


Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

by stuckytrash (Watsittoyou)



Series: All Roads Lead To Rome [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Canon Compliant, I update when I have inspiration, M/M, On Hiatus, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, With Bucky as Cap instead, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8732005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watsittoyou/pseuds/stuckytrash
Summary: Bucky Barnes fell off the train, and Steve Rogers flew a plane into the ice two weeks later - everyone knew that.Except everyone is wrong.On indefinite hiatus - zero inspiration, sorry!





	1. Chapter 1

_“I know you loved him, Peggy.”_

**_“You don’t have to do this, James. You don’t.”_ **

_“This way’s easiest. It’s the only answer I got, it solves the problem of questions after the war, and – I get to see him again.”_

**_“He wouldn’t want you to do this.”_ **

_“He’s not here. That dumb punk would to exactly the same as what I’m doing, you hear me? You can’t tell me he wouldn’t. I’ve known him all my life, Peggy, and in this seat, with a plane full of nuclear bombs? He’d do just the same.”_

**_“You’re not him. We can work this_ out _James, just please don’t do this.”_**

_“There’s not much point in me staying alive anymore – I – Peggy – my arm – I can’t-”_

**_“James?!”_ **

_“I can’t move it – I’m bleeding out and – and there’s nothing I can do about it – I can’t even feel it anymore-”_

**_“Turn that damned plane around and let us help you. We can fix your arm-”_ **

_“I’ll bleed to death before I get there. Come on. You can go home, after this. Tell the world that Bucky Barnes fell off the train, and Steve Rogers plunged the plane into the ice, and let Steve die a hero’s death.”_

**_“You’re both heroes. You know that. What difference does it make who died first, and how?”_ **

_“You wouldn’t understand, Peggy. He’s already a hero to thousands. The face of the war, the man every little boy wants to be. Everyone wants to die a hero. Nobody wants to die – sc – scared-”_

**_“You think I can’t hear your voice trembling? You think I can’t tell you’re scared?”_ **

_“I know you can. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to do this for me, and I know you are. Bucky Barnes died scared. Steve Rog-“_

**_“James? – God, please – James!”_ **

****

_“This one’s waited long enough.”_

_“We’ve found Captain America? No fucking way have we found Captain America! The boss is gonna be_ so _freaking pleased.”_

_“Robert, have some respect, he’s dead, don’t get so excited over a dead body.”_

_“Sorry, sorry… but come on, man. He’s been missing for like a century. America’s gonna give him a whole shebang for a funeral, and that’s thanks to us!”_

_“Who the hell is talking? Shut the fuck up, man, I need to get a reading on-”_

**_thump_ **

****

**_thump_ **

****

****

_“Where’s that coming from?”_

_“I don’t know – is it a heartbeat? Jason, are you fucking with the tech again? This isn’t funny, it cost more than a year’s pay-”_

_“I didn’t touch it! I swear! It sounds like…”_

**_thump_ **

****

_“Oh my God – is – is it coming from -?”_

_“Fuck! Get me on the line to the Colonel – yes, a-fucking-gain, it’s a national emergency!”_

_“Get his mask off. I need to see if I can open his eyes, get a response on pupil dilation –”_

_“Yes sir.”_

crackle

pop

_“Careful – if he_ is _alive, don’t break his fucking neck-”_

_“Oh my god.”_

_“Who is that?”_

_“That’s not Captain America – that’s not Steve Rogers-”_

_“Who the fuck – oh my god.”_

_“Robert?”_

_“That’s – Jesus, man, that’s_ Bucky Barnes _-”_

 

 

When Bucky Barnes awoke, in a room identical to the one Steve Rogers would wake in a different life, a different world, a different universe, he was just confused.

Mere seconds ago, had he not been dead? Had he not plunged a plane deep into the ice, sure he wouldn’t awake in any other realm but one above, or perhaps even one below?

But no, his eyes adjusted to the intense, artificial light that was strewn across the room like a river of gold, ears sensitive to the too close sound of traffic, fingers clenching in a soft linen bedsheet.

But – his fingers –

There were only five of them. He could feel them making dents on the bed to his right, but on his left there was just a dull ache, as if they wanted to move but couldn’t.

He sat up slowly, eyes darting around the room before down to his body, analysing his surroundings like any good little soldier would, and trying to identify anything he could use as a weapon.

Nothing.

The radio crackled, and he noticed it for the first time. An enthused presenter raised his voice quickly, the crowd cheering behind him, and Bucky squinted at the radio, knowing without remembering where he’d heard – or rather seen – this game before.

His eyes fell at last to his left arm – or, with a sharp clench of his heart, the stump left of it. He slowly raised his right hand with trepidation, letting it run over the skin and he wanted to be sick when he found it smooth and completely healed, without a bandage in sight. Whatever had happened to it, it had been long enough ago for it to be healed completely, and _that-_

The door opened.

A woman stepped through, and for a second, just a split-second, he thought it was Peggy – with her brunette hair curled just slightly, her lips painted just the wrong shade of red, and her tie too wide and the wrong knot – no. This woman was an impersonator, and that – that meant she was dangerous.

“Good morning,” she stepped forward, but she made a show of bringing her arm up to her face, pulling her sleeve back only slightly to peek at the watch on her wrist. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“Where am I?” he asked, hoarse and gruff as he got to his feet, almost overbalancing without the counterweight of his left arm. The muscles in her face twinged as she held back.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.” Her head tilted to the side an unnatural amount, almost patronising in its simplicity.

He stepped forward, the sound of the radio white noise in his head. “The game is from 1941. I was there,” he told her, all menace despite his vulnerability. “So tell me where I really am, or we’re going to have a problem.”

The woman’s expression hardened, but she didn’t take a step back. “Sergeant Barnes-”

“ _Captain_ ,” he hissed at her, but his mind recalled his final conversation with Peggy, and he was grateful at the very least that this meant she’d done as he asked. Nobody knew his rank had been increased, nobody knew Steve Rogers-

Two fully armed, completely protected guards barged into the room, wearing all black, and Bucky flinched backwards, almost completely overbalancing before he counteracted it, throwing himself at the closest one with his one arm and two legs, wrapping them around the guard’s chest and neck and using his unbalanced weight to his advantage. He sent the man tripping over himself and hitting his head against the wall. It was then that he realised it was completely hollow and incredibly weak – one more well-timed hit to the wall and it would break apart.

He jumped off of the first guard and kicked at the second, without a moment to spare for this newfound strength of his and sent the man flying towards the wall. Sure enough, it crumbled beneath the force, and when Bucky landed, he turned it into a forward roll, trying to counteract his unbalanced weight as much as possible before setting off at a dead run.

He was out of the fake room when he heard the woman yell his name, and then a loud voice echoed across the entire building calling, _Code thirteen! Code thirteen!_

And he didn’t know what that meant, he just didn’t stop, sprinting as fast as he could using his only arm as barrier from anyone that came after him and when he found himself in the street he felt panic grip his chest; he kept running with the traffic, turning at random moments and trying to catch sight of all of these new buildings that took over the New York he knew, and then suddenly he was surrounded by TVs, the big ones, the kind on the pictures, and they were high up in the sky like birds, but they didn’t fly, they didn’t fall, they just hung there.

The black cars like shadows surrounded him and he didn’t know what to do – spinning and spinning, balancing almost perfectly for how little time he’d been armless, and he heard a man speak up. When he turned, he saw a tall, dark-skinned man with an eyepatch and a long leather coat, and he wondered where this man got his style from – he’d never seen a man wear this before.

“At ease, soldier,” the man had said, and Bucky puffed himself up; this man was in charge, and he was the direct threat to him. The man chuckled. “You’re safe, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Captain.” He corrected for the second time, stiff as a board and a challenge in his eyes. The man took it in stride, expression not changing in any way other than his eyes taking on an assessing look.

“Captain Barnes,” he conceded. “That would explain a little of how we found you in that plane, not Steve Rogers.”

“Who are you?” he asked, nostrils flaring as the adrenaline in his body pumped up to a high. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

The man’s expression turned morose, with only a slight bit of falseness to it; he got the impression that this man hid his emotions almost permanently – showing them so openly probably invited something fake in the expression.

“We thought it would be best to break it to you slowly.”

“Break what? What’s going on?” he demanded.

 “You’ve been asleep, Captain. For almost seventy years.”

 

And his heart broke in his chest and he fell completely silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight ableist language from Bucky out of frustration with his missing arm, in case that concerns anyone.  
> Just to let you guys know, I plan on retelling the MCU with Bucky, but as having him as a wholly separate character to Steve rather than just basing his interactions with others off of Steve's. That said, I hope it pays off!

 

“We can do something about that arm, you know. Modern medicine and science has advanced far enough to do something with it.”

“I’ve seen them,” Bucky cut Fury off dismissively. “Limp plastic that doesn’t do anything but hang there in place of an arm. I don’t need to be reminded of what I lost every time I look down.”

“We have a technological genius. Don’t tell him I said that, his ego’s big enough, but he can build you an arm.”

“Why the hell would I want an arm?” Bucky burst out in reply, all of his withheld anger exploding from his mouth in one fell swoop; two weeks ago he’d had two functioning arms and Steve by his side, and now he had neither. “Why the _fuck_ would I want someone to _build me_ a new arm? Why? Give me one good freaking reason.”

“Because you’re Captain America,” Fury levelled with him. “I’m not here to be your goddamn babysitter. You’re a grown man. You are capable of making your own decisions, but if you think you can go out and protect the world with one arm, you’re fooling yourself.”

“So you think I can’t fight with one arm? You think – what, I’m useless with one arm? Who says I want to protect the world anyway? Haven’t I done enough for the world?”

“No you have not.” Fury finally snapped back. “You are not a child, and I’m not here to listen to your _tantrums_. Boohoo, _Princess,_ you didn’t die like you thought. You can either come back into the world as you are, or go back to who you thought you were, and either way, we’re getting answers out of you. And no, I do _not_ think you’re useless with one arm. I saw you take out two heavily armed guards using just that – I ain’t blind or stupid. But what you can do with one arm? You can do so much better with two.”

 Bucky stared at him for too long a moment to be casual, all assessing and serious as his eyes were red with frustration and anger.

“If you’re gonna build me an arm – it’s gotta be _good_ ,” he seethed. “Gotta _work_. Can’t hold me back and is as strong as I am. _Then and only then_ will I consider joining your fucking corporation.”

“SHIELD.”

“Whatever.”

Fury let out a rather pleased, smug, “Hmph,” as if he’d expected Bucky to agree all along. “I’ll relay the message to Stark.”

Fury’s steps echoed off of the tile before Bucky flung himself around, staring wide-eyed at the other man.

“Stark? As in – Howard?” he faltered, the slightest bit of vulnerability wavering in his voice. He hadn’t even thought to ask…

Fury’s gaze turned only the slightest bit sad. “Howard’s son. He’s been dead for twenty years.”

“Of course,” Bucky replied stiffly, turning back away. He should have expected that, but it didn’t sting any less.

 

He never met this younger Stark, nor was he given any indication that Stark knew who he was; he expected that his awakening had been relatively hush-hush.

A team of doctors and Fury arrived not two weeks later with a silver, plated metal arm.

“We’ll have to amputate what’s left,” the lead doctor told him, no beating around the bush and no nonsense. “But we can hook the arm directly into your spinal cord and central nervous system. The result should give you a fully functional, high tech, high strength arm that can withstand all the damage that you can, if not more.”

“I can withstand a lot,” Bucky breathed darkly, eyes dragging over his right bicep. He’d been so surprised when he awoke to realise that the strength he’d had before the ice had practically trebled – and he hadn’t been weak before. His mind unwillingly flittered back to a dark night in the middle of the forest, the Howlies hundreds of yards away so they couldn’t hear his strangled moans and whimpers as Steve held him against the tree and-

What he had found so strange was that the moment he set both feet back on the ground, his hips and thighs _ached_. In the firelight of his first watch he’d checked and found blooming bruises the size of Steve’s hands, and he knew that Steve had underestimated his own strength but – but Steve had been capable of breaking bone with those hands. Ripping a head clean off, and sending men flying. The only damage Steve could do to Bucky’s skin was _bruises,_ and even those had yellowed and faded within days, before he and Steve had any sort of privacy to make _more_.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he mused, lips twisting in an ironic frown; what did he care if it was safe? He’d plunged a plane into the ice _knowing_ it would get him killed. The doctor smiled without humour.

“No,” she told him, brutally honest, and Bucky gave a sour, dry laugh.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

 

He couldn’t feel his left arm, not at first.  He could _hear_ it. It whirred and buzzed, creaked and groaned, but never, not ever, sounding unhealthy. Part of him wondered if the younger Stark shared his father’s dramatic flair and sense of humour, thinking perhaps he had added the noises for show rather than a representation of the inner workings of the device. He had a sneaking suspicion that, should he decide to take it apart, inside he would find each and every gear and cog or whatever was in there turning smoothly, without a hitch.

 

He hated the physio.

His trainer, a tall man with all four of his functioning limbs who did not have even the slightest clue who he was, barked orders at him non-stop, to gain weight and muscle mass, move faster, work harder, hit harder, until the sweat dripped off the edge of his nose, sent flying with each violent stab of his fist; at least the sharp pain from where his knuckles collided with the bag was a welcome distraction.

 

Even more, he hated the fine motor skills aspect; his ‘teacher’ was an elderly woman, a retired art teacher whose eyesight had fooled her into thinking he looked just like her middle grandson.

He had of course been a good artist when they were younger. Not as good as Steve – he had been a natural artist. Bucky had learnt from the ground up, starting from the lessons he joined Steve at so he didn’t feel quite so lonely.

When she asked him to draw something familiar with his left hand, the only image that came to mind was the quirk of Steve’s lips, was the arch of Steve’s eyebrows, was the desperate way Steve clung to him before Bucky failed to catch him in time.

 

“Does anybody know about me?” he asked, too curious for his own good the next time Fury visited. “That I’m alive? Or – or even that Steve…”

Fury glanced at him, and his one eye was very difficult to read.

“We leaked some documents to the public,” he said carefully. “That uses the rank of ‘Captain’ in reference to you instead of Steve. Naturally, we had some backlash.”

“What kind of backlash?”

Fury chuckled without any sort of humour. “Just some people think that it was fake. People out there don’t like the idea of someone else taking on the shield.” His gaze pointedly diverted to the circular disc of pure vibranium leaning against the wall, red, white, and blue like the American flag and Bucky could not explain the weight that shield put on his shoulders; the weight of Steve Rogers’ legacy, the weight of the freedom of the world, the weight of justice.

It was his to bear, not Steve’s, not anymore.

“We haven’t given any indication of your return to the public. We will, of course, in due time, but right now, you need to adjust. And I’m doing you a favour here, Barnes. The minute the world finds out you’re alive you’ll never get a second of peace.”

 

 

“I’m trying to save the world,” Fury told him, voice thrown to sound bigger and more convincing, and it would probably work better if he hadn’t heard Steve use the exact trick a thousand times before; this man had no plan, this man didn’t know _how_ to save the world from whatever was wrong. He was just trying to do what was right.

At least he could respect that.

“Fine,” he spat, attaching another punching bag to the hook on the ceiling. “Tell me when you want me.”

“How about now, soldier?”

And Bucky’s hands settled on the bag to steady it, his eyes caressing the metal of his left hand and he wondered just how badly things could go wrong if he agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s – it really is an honour to meet you, Sergeant Barnes. I mean – Captain. Captain Barnes.”

Bucky quirked a smile in the man’s direction. He didn’t seem as high strung or as stern as Fury came across; he felt at peace and relaxed in his environment, even if he did sort of put Bucky on a pedestal. Who knew he had fans?

“You too, Agent – Coulson, was it?” The man lit up as he nodded, and Bucky smiled, but he was sure he could tell it was strained.

“Any chance I can find out where I’m going?” he asked, a bitter twist to his lips. Coulson gave him a bland smile.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Coulson turned towards the front window, lips pursing. “As a matter of fact, we’re almost there. If you’d like to fasten your seatbelt, Captain.”

 

He was on his feet as soon as they landed, itching to stretch his legs and figure out why they were in the middle of the ocean. There shouldn’t, by all rights, be anything there at all.

He waited patiently with Agent Coulson for the door to descend, and when it did he marched out with all the self-control of an army soldier, resisting the urge to dart his eyes around everywhere he could look.

The first thing that caught his eyes, however, wasn’t a thing, but a woman with crimson hair and a purposefully casual stance. She was wearing a leather jacket and her hair was slightly curled, but the way her arms fastened behind her back and her stance was too wide for anything ordinary clued him into her precise training – probably military, if not something more dangerous. In fact, the way she carried herself combined with the look in her eyes made him think that one wrong move and he’d be on his back before he could ask her name.

It was why he was pleasantly, smugly surprised to watch her eyes widen for a fraction of a second in surprise.

“You’re not Captain Rogers.” She spoke, eyes narrowing and her voice smoky. That was the tone of voice he’d expect from a siren – a sweet song to lure you to your death, and she had mastered it. “No wonder they kept you quiet.”

“Agent Romanoff, Captain James Barnes.” Coulson introduced, amusement lingering on his lips.

“Ma’am,” Bucky nodded politely, so eerily reminiscent of the night in the bar where Peggy’s eyes were only for Steve’s and his for her. He remembered the way her very presence demanded attention, the way her crimson dress – not so unlike Agent Romanoff’s hair – sparkled in the low light and made Bucky want her for Steve – even if it meant sacrificing himself.

“Hi,” she smirked at him, all amusement and jabs. She turned abruptly to Coulson. “They need you on the bridge.”

“See you there,” he conceded with a nod, setting off with a determined look in his eye. Bucky watched him go, unsure if he was meant to follow, but Romanoff walked in the opposite direction with such determination that he decided to follow her instead. He and Steve shared two weaknesses – each other, and powerful dames that could crush them with her pointed heels and cherry lipstick.

“Fury told a very select few about you, you know,” Romanoff said to him conversationally, but every word was efficiently calculated, and this was not a woman to cross. “Myself, Clint, Coulson, and Maria – and we were all told you were Steve Rogers. Not to mention the doctors that gave you _that_ , and the people who were present at your discovery, but those have been paid off with a more than generous sum.”

So that was the game she was playing. He offered her an amused smirk, and he was entertained to find the delighted look igniting in her eyes. He wondered if anybody out there knew what kind of woman she is. Bucky doubted it.

“I’m not Steve Rogers,” he agreed. “But I’m still officially Captain America, whether I like it or not. I’m certain that if I _was_ Steve Rogers, almost everyone around here would know he was alive.”

“Maybe. Has Phil talked to you about his vintage card collection yet?”

Bucky cocked his head at her. “Phil? You mean Coulson?” at her nod, he gave an amused huff. “No, he hasn’t.”

Romanoff grinned at him. “He’ll get you to sign them. He’s very proud of them, you know.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, this strange, sort of short woman reminding him so much of the Commandoes, like an amalgamation of each of their signature traits, and he knew that deep down beneath that exterior was a shell of a woman trying to act like a person.

He saw it in the mirror.

He did intend to reply, but his eyes caught on a clearly anxious, bumbling man who was practically walking in circles. This man didn’t look like a threat at all, he didn’t look like he was carrying anything, and he doubted SHIELD would have been so lax in security than a man was on board without anyone’s knowledge, so he had no doubt he was supposed to be here. But the man didn’t know where to go, and that little conscience in the back of his head, the one that sounded so eerily like Steve’s stubborn voice, told him to make sure this man was alright.

“Who is that?” he asked Romanoff instead, already off towards the man before she could reply. Her hand caught his left wrist, and the hardness of it clearly put her off once again for a half second.

“That man is extremely dangerous,” she warned him in a low voice, no playing, no teasing, all malice and deadly intent. It was so sharp a contrast to the woman he’d conversed with only seconds before, and he had a newfound respect for the way she could flip a switch and be all business within a fraction of a second. “One wrong move and you’re squished like a bug.”

He pulled his hand from hers, carrying on towards the man.

“Excuse me?” he asked and the man turned sharply towards him, eyes wide as if expecting a reprimand. Confusion passed over his features for a few seconds, combined with recognition, as if he knew Bucky from somewhere but couldn’t place it. “Are you alright? You seem lost.”

“Oh – I’m fine, I – uh, I’m waiting for a meeting, actually. I’m sorry, do I know you?” His eyebrows had furrowed together in an effort to spur on any memory from the depths of his mind. “You look familiar.”

“I doubt it,” Bucky mumbled, turning his eyes back to Romanoff in a silent question – could he introduce himself as… himself? Her slight, unconcerned nod was enough of an answer for him, so he thrust out his right hand as an offer of companionship. “James Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Bruce Banner,” he replied almost instinctively, but his own hand froze in Bucky’s as his eyes widened with realisation. “James Barnes? _Bucky_ Barnes? You mean -?”

Bucky set himself up straight with that glint of challenge in his pupils that he’d no doubt learned from a ten year old Steve as he nodded.

Bruce’s eyes flickered over to Romanoff, and he was sure that it was for comfort. Bucky knew from the way his eyebrows lifted just slightly at her that they had met before.

“I – it’s an honour to meet you, Sergeant Barnes,” he said slowly, reverently, but his quick blinking gave away his confusion, his eyes swimming in how lost he clearly was. Bucky squared his jaw and replied softly,

“It’s Captain, actually, but Bucky’s fine. And you can let of my hand now, Mr. Banner.”

He quickly slid his hand from Bucky’s grip, sheepish and apologetic all at once despite the instinctive, “It’s doctor, and Bruce is just fine.”

He meant to reply, but Romanoff did before he could.

“You might want to step inside, guys. It’s going to get a little hard to breathe out here.”

Sure enough the floor beneath them gave a slight lurch, not enough to throw any of them off-balance but enough to assure them that there was something happening. Bucky and Bruce sauntered in unison over to the edge of the gigantic runway, staring at the seat as it rippled onwards and outwards into the horizon.

“Is this a submarine, or something?” Bucky asked, merely out of curiosity. How could it be, though, when they were surrounded by jets and crates with nowhere for them to go?

“They want to put _me_ in a submerged, pressurised container?” Bruce asked drily from next to him, voice dripping with a lack of humour. Bucky frowned at the sea, contemplating the other man’s words. What could he possibly mean? Did he have some sort of medical condition that prevented that from being an option?

Whirlpools began to form only feet below where they were standing, flecks of water splashing at them but not enough to drench. Bucky blinked as turbines rose from the whirlpools with a loud _whir_ and _rumble_ , and Bruce was muttering under his breath with a humourless smile,

“Oh, no, this is much worse.”

 

Romanoff led the two men deep into the plane’s centre, into what looked like the control centre where Nick stood at the head surrounded by numerous screens, and a woman a few feet in front of him that marched around with her eyes swivelling to everything at once, eyes like a hawk’s and she was probably just as in charge as Fury was.

There was a huge, irrevocably large and clear window against the other side, out of which he could see the clouds disintegrate as they rose above them.

Bruce got caught up in a conversation with Fury and he absently listened in, catching a flicker of red moving out of the corner of his eye. He watched as Romanoff squatted down so that she could swipe her fingers at a screen next to the pathway, eyes roaming over the picture on the screen with a careful blankness that Dugan had told him his own eyes held.

“Who’s he?” Bucky asked quietly, hands stuffed into his pockets. Dugan had, after all, said that after Steve – so whoever this man was, he was likely dead, or heavily injured.

“A friend.” Romanoff returned with a sharp edge to her eyes that he definitely knew of. “I owe him a debt.”

He’d owed Steve’s hundreds, thousands. The one time he could repay it, he fell short.

“He’s alive, then?” Bucky asked her, eyes flickering over the man’s face. He looked friendly enough, despite his rugged appearance and dark eyes that had definitely seen a thousand types of horror.

“He’s alive.” Romanoff confirmed, firm and fierce. She was called to Fury’s side before he could reply so he let himself stand at the helm and watch over the crew with sharp eyes, adrenaline lingering beneath his skin as he waited for something to happen, for a fight he could win.

It must have been how Steve felt when he was five-four, itching for something to prove himself against.

 

“Captain,” Fury called him and Bucky lurched to the side, desperately relieved when the awkward conversation about Coulson’s vintage set was cut off. “You’re up.”

“Yes sir. I need a uniform?”

“Coulson.” Fury responded dismissively and Coulson jumped into action.

“If you’ll follow me, Captain.”

He was led through a series of unnecessarily winding corridors until Coulson pressed a code into one, allowing the doors to separate.

“Your suit is through here. I had some input on the design myself.”

He could hear the pride shining through Coulson’s tone so Bucky tried not to visibly wince at the garishly coloured suit that stood in front of him.

It was, of course, red, white, and blue, but it looked so hideously bright and neon that it almost hurt Bucky’s eyes to stare at. He wondered, absently, what Steve would have thought of the suit.

“I’ll leave you to change, Captain.”

 

The suit was skin tight and chafing, but it was perfectly trimmed to his measurements, so somebody must have been keeping an eye on him. Maybe Fury could measure him with a single glance. Maybe that was creepy.

The one thing that irked him about the suit, however, was the way it bunched up on and around his metal arm, where the material settled into each crevice of the plates and leaving an undeniably unpleasant and ugly effect. It did _not_ want to stay still and Bucky pulled the sleeve down four times before he finally shoved the whole upper half off of his body, holding the shoulder with his left arm and tugging at the left sleeve with his right. It took a fair bit of effort, surprising him, as he didn’t expect the flimsy material to be so protective and strong. Even so, the metal of his fingers tore through the fabric and the entire left sleeve fell in a disconsolate pile on the floor. Stuffing his arm through the new, rough hole, Bucky flexed his metal arm in all the positions he’d been taught in physio, satisfied at the new result.

When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he almost gagged with laughter at himself. He looked idiotic; the suit was far too bright, magnifying the metallic colour of the arm unattractively, and he hadn’t even put the mask on yet. At the very least, the colours somewhat matched the vibranium shield left leaning against the wall; Fury had taken it weeks earlier and stated he would get it back should he decide to join SHIELD. Bucky hadn’t argued, but he’d wished he had, missing the way he’d slung it onto his arm or back when transporting it around his apartment, a comfort, and protection.

As he slung it onto his back once again, he was relieved at the weight of it and finally at peace that he had something to _do_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha.... not dead....  
> Okay, I went on holiday not long after I updated this, and when I got home I decided I wanted to write THE WHOLE EVENTS of the Avengers in one chapter to save you all from, well, having to wait for a storyline most of you know in your sleep.  
> I spent about two weeks writing then realised I had only gathered... 3000 words....  
> so  
> here are those 3000 words
> 
> I will endeavour to get another chapter out MUCH sooner, and hopefully finish off the Avengers movie.  
> Also: you may notice the title changed. This is because I felt the title better fitted the name of the series, and vice versa, as I plan on (eventually) writing a series of completely unconnected parallel universes along the same plot line, that is, the MCU canon.

He hit the ground just in time to shield the German man from the weird antler guy’s sceptre blast. He’d said it before, but this was just like one of the sci-fi novels he used to indulge in when they’d got money spare, full of intrigue and mystery, and aliens and laser beams.

“So the world hasn’t changed a bit in seventy years,” Bucky called as he drew himself up to full height, staring with challenge in his eyes at Loki.

“The world has changed plenty,” Loki laughed as if he were an imbecile, as if he knew nothing. “But how fitting it is they dig up a fossil in order to spare Earth from its evolution.”

A cold fist clenched itself around Bucky’s heart; this man knew he was from the past, but he was certain he knew little more than that.

“You’re out of time, Loki.” He replied instead of a challenge, steel in his voice and posture as defiant as he could manage.

He heard the whir of the Quinjet behind him, and Romanoff’s voice rang out throughout the square, “Loki, drop the weapon and _stand down_ ,” but Loki moved before she’d even finish, face contorting into a snarl as he reached for the sceptre in an attempt to strike the jet.

Bucky launched the shield at him with his right hand, darting forward as soon as the shield was gone in an effort not to waste critical time. It was a good thing, too, because all the shield did was confuse Loki for a half second before Bucky barrelled into him, left hand catching Loki’s jaw in a hard punch.

He wasn’t expecting Loki to recover so quickly, but he did, striking at Bucky with his own hand. The man was _strong_ , inhumanly so, and he internally groaned as he realised that _someone_ hadn’t been telling him the whole entire truth about whether this guy was human or not. Fury was going to have some answering to do.

They fought and grappled at one another far too closely for Bucky’s liking, having been used to have an upper hand in strength even before he realised he had the serum; he’d been a boxing champion, after all. All he could think as he fought his ass off was how grateful to his past self he was that he’d wizened up and asked Carter to teach them to fight like _real_ professionals.

 _Jesus_ , he thought distractedly, a little dazed by Loki’s sceptre as it hit his helmet. _Peggy really knew her shit._

“Kneel,” Loki grunted, breathy and smug, and Bucky knew that Romanoff was listening, knew he might get blue-carded, but he couldn’t help but sarcastically grunt, “At least buy me dinner first,” as he slid out from beneath the sceptre and climbed over Loki’s shoulder, pulling the other man into a headlock and gaining the upper hand with his left arm choking his windpipe. It wasn’t original, of course it wasn’t – he’d heard it strewn across the plethora of TV shows he’d seen, even on the internet – _thing._ It was usually a joke, but if Romanoff took it the wrong way…

He wasn’t expecting the music from a distance away to get quickly closer, incrementally louder, before a humanoid _thing_ landed in front of them both, and Loki went still beneath him as the humanoid metal man raised an arm, a whir that sounded threatening even to Bucky.

“Make a move, Reindeer Games,” the voice didn’t sound at all robotic or fake, and with a jolt, Bucky realised the voice was coming from _inside_ the figure, making it a suit.

Of course. Iron Man.

“I’ve got this covered,” Bucky grunted, even as Loki raised his arms in surrender. He slid down the asshole’s back. “You must be Mr. Stark.”

“You should be dead,” Stark countered. Despite himself, Bucky snorted, stepping back and reaching for his discarded shield.

“Yeah, I should be.”

 

“At least buy me dinner first?” was the first thing that Romanoff said to him as soon as they boarded the Quinjet. Her amused smirk was the only thing that kept his back from going ramrod straight and his eyes from glinting with challenge.

“What can I say, I like to have fun on the job.”

“Did Captain America make a sex joke?” Mr. Stark called from beneath his mask after settling Loki into his bonds. “Did you just make a sex joke?”

“I did.” Bucky acquiesced, shooting the older – younger? – man an inquisitive look. “What? Sex wasn’t invented after my time, you know.”

“I like this one. Can we keep him?”

 

Thunder rumbled outside and Loki’s eyes jerked around the cabin, as if waiting for something to strike. Bucky _really_ didn’t like that.

“What, scared of thunder?” Loki didn’t even look over, eyes still staring at the roof of the jet.

“I’m not overly fond of what follows,” he replied ominously, sounding oddly British in the way he spoke.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, trying to work out what Loki meant by it. He clearly meant _something_ , he couldn’t just be messing with him – that didn’t seem to be the man’s style – all flair and manipulation, no false steps, no misspoken words.

The roof of the jet _thudded_ and everyone inside it that could stand did, on the defensive in an instant.

It seemed that Loki was being literal.

Great. This century just kept getting better and better. Stark put on his iron helmet and slammed against the release button for the jet’s cargo hold, marching out slightly in wait of their attacker.

“Stark-!” Bucky yelled, a warning. This kid was like Steve and Howard had a love child – pure genius and no sense of self preservation.

An enormous man – and he _meant_ enormous, that man could put _Steve’s_ post-serum proportions to shame – thundered onto the jet, sending Stark flying with a hard punch of his – hammer? Was that a hammer? He grabbed a hold of Loki and flew off in a matter of seconds.

“Please tell me you guys saw that,” Bucky muttered, half to himself as he leapt to his feet. Yeah, Fury had definitely been keeping things from him.

“I saw,” Bucky could almost imagine Stark gritting his teeth. “Now there’s two of them.”

He made his way over to the ramp of the jet and Bucky was on his feet in an instant, on high alert.

“Stark, you can’t go in without a plan-!” he called, and replace ‘Stark’ with ‘Rogers’ and he’d said that sentence a thousand times before.

“I have a plan,” the younger Stark turned his head half to the side in an approximation of a glare. “Attack.”

And he flew off the plane.

“Why the _fuck_ am I always surrounded on every side by fucking idiots that jump off of htings,” he griped under his breath and he could have sworn that Romanoff exhaled a laugh from her nose. As he spoke he attached a parachute to his back.

“You can’t go out there,” Romanoff yelled back at him. “Those guys come from legend, they’re basically Gods!”

“God ain’t real, sweetheart,” he drawled, completely unamused by the whole day. “And if he was, I’m pretty sure he’d know how to wash.”

With that, he jumped from the plane.

 

 _Fucking idiots,_ he griped to himself before he landed in the woods, Loki looking on like a tiger stalking prey, a vicious smile like all his dreams came true. The _other two_ , Stark and hammer-guy were duking it out, _still_ , and he needed to break this up before they tore each other apart, Christ.

“Both of you, _stop_!” he bellowed, loud enough to make the two heaving men, or, in Stark’s case, a heaving _metal case,_ turn to him. He resisted the strong urge to whack them both with the gigantic metal frisbee as he dropped to the ground alongside the two of them.

He flexed his arm, the metal plates readjusting. “Look,” he seethed, eyes darting up to a significantly less amused Loki on the cliff. “I neither know nor _care_ why you’re here for Loki, but we _need_ him. He’s threatening the safety of earth, and we need you to stand down.”

“I come to put an end to Loki’s schemes, as you do,” the blonde buffoon inclined his head, but the words had a threatening aura to them that made him subconsciously rearrange his plates again.

“Then I want you to put your hammer down and _prove_ it, because from what I can tell, you’re just as much of a threat as he is,” he challenged, chin lifted and eyes defiant, and oh, fuck, he pissed off the giant.

“Uh – no! He loves his ham-!” The hammer in question vaulted Stark back, sending him sliding roughly against the forest ground, probably rubbing rocks and dirt into each crevice of the suit.

“You want me to put it down?!”  The supposed God roared, and there was no other way to describe it but a roar, regal and loud, commanding and deep, outraged. He jumped into the air higher than any normal human and lifted his hammer into an arc, and Bucky turned his flinch into a movement, grounding himself with his legs and tossing the shield to his left arm, the less breakable arm, and braced his whole body for the impact.

When it hit, it came with such an overpowering, blindingly bright _clang_ that it sent both men flying, even despite their strength and balance, sprawling onto the forest floor and even forcing the trees in the vicinity to fall from the force.

That was _not_ an ordinary hammer, and _definitely_ not something he wanted to fuck with.

The three of them, after a long, bruising moment, clambered to their feet and congregated in a small circle facing one another, momentary resentment and opposition dissipating in the wake of the hammer-crash.

“I’ll assume we’re done here,” Bucky heaved a sigh and yanked his helmet off his head, carding his flesh fingers through the sweat soaked hair.

 

He watched on the screen as Fury seemed to casually converse with Loki, but it was clear it was a verbal assault more than anything, and at the ‘Ant, boot.’ part  Bucky officially counted himself as lost.

He did _not_ understand people these days. He just didn’t.

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Bruce said drily, and Bucky had no idea If he was talking about Fury or Loki, but either way he wholeheartedly agreed.

“Thor,” he said instead of a proper reply, the word – name – baffling to say. He’d heard of Thor, the Norse God, and to find he was… well, real…. “You know your brother best. What’s he going to do next?”

“I expect the Chitauri have sided with him. They are a species unlike any other, and are not from any known planet.” Thor pursed his lips, eyes sharply focused. “He will lead them against your people, and they shall win him the earth – if he gives them the tesseract in kind.”

“Hold on,” he cut off the God, on high alert in an instant. Did he just fuckin hear-? “ _Tesseract_?”

Thor’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, not quite understanding Bucky’s confusion. “Indeed, Captain. Is there something wrong?”

“You’re damn right there is,” he growled. He heard Bruce shift behind him and he turned to look in his direction, holding his cool while there were other people present. When he got Fury alone, _God help that one-eyed bastard_ , Bucky was seeing red. “What did you say about – about a ‘species’ from outer space? Like you?”

Right, aliens were a thing that happened. Once again, fucking Fury.

“Unlike any other,” Thor repeated solemnly, and Bucky internally swore. Fuck his life.

“So he’s building another portal,” Bruce mused. “That’s what he needs Selvig for.”

A name he _does_ recognise. Thank fuck. Romanoff had given him the rundown as soon as he wasn’t being attacked by an alien, including her friend Clint and this Selvig guy.

“Selvig?” Thor asked, but it didn’t sound baffled or confused, only concern touching the word.

“He’s an astrophysicist,” Bruce explained, misinterpreting Thor’s question for one of confusion.

“He’s a friend,” Thor shot back, and Natasha – the ever silent presence near the door – finally stepped into the conversation.

“Loki has him under some kind of spell,” she explained quickly, seeing that he didn’t understand the status of his friend. “Along with one of ours.” She tacked on darkly, but her voice trembled slightly as she cut her gaze away. It struck him as strange. Romanoff didn’t seem the type of woman to allow her vulnerabilities to shine through. When he glanced at the other two men, they seemed somewhat remorseful, and sorrowful, but the other woman, Agent Hill, she had a carefully blank expression.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Bucky cut in after a long moment, gesturing at the screen Loki had been on only a moment before. “Why did he let us capture him? He didn’t put up much of a fight, and that’s my bruised rib talking. He can’t lead the Chitauri from here.”

Bruce heaved a sigh off to the side. “I don’t think Loki should be our focus. His brain is a bag full of cats, you can _smell_ the crazy on him.”

Bucky snorted, earning a disapproving look from Thor before he turned it in Bruce’s direction.

“Have care how you speak. Loki is indeed beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. He is my brother.”

From her seat, where he’d almost forgotten she sat, Romanoff spoke, challenging and dry, without humour,

“He killed eighty people in two days.”

There was a brief, pregnant pause as all eyes swivelled to the Asgardian, where he looked straight at her and said, completely deadpan, “He’s adopted.”

Bucky didn’t even bother trying to hide his howl of amusement, relieved that people still had a sense of humour these days.

Even if their humour cut a little too close to Steve’s.

“I think it’s about the mechanics.” Bruce cut in, changing the subject abruptly. “Iridium… what do they need that for?”

Bucky wasn’t even going to pretend to know the answer, and he was saved from even trying when the voice from earlier – significantly less robotic and electronic – responded.

“It’s a stabilising agent.” The younger Stark looked quite alike his father in a very odd way – he held himself with the same arrogance, and they both had questionable facial hair choices. The very structure of his face was reminiscent of Bucky’s long gone friend, but the eyes of steel were something new; there was a horror in those eyes, and Bucky wanted to unwrap that enigma.

All the while he thought all of this, the younger Stark, Anthony had been having a confusing conversation full of words he knew but somehow didn’t quite understand, until suddenly he called, bringing all attention to him in the large control room,

“That man is playing Galaga!” he gestured in the general direction of a man who Bucky stared down, stony-faced and confused. “Thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.” He continued absently, shoving one hand over his eye as he spun around the displays. “How does Fury even see these?”

“He turns.” Hill responded drily, and Stark didn’t miss a beat before replying,

“Sounds exhausting.”

How strange, he thought, that Stark used his wits and humour as a shield. The elder Stark used to do quite the opposite, forcing forward with his strange humour, especially, Steve had told him, when he tried to flirt with Agent Carter.

Before he could even try to say as much, however, the younger continue to speak at a pace that he couldn’t keep up with, and he only managed to catch the word ‘cube’ before Hill interjected.

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?”

Bucky vaguely understood what that meant, and he cheered himself internally.

“Last night,” Stark quipped, and Bucky snickered. He thought absently what Steve would make of this. Would he laugh? He didn’t think so. His Steve had matured far beyond his years and was too serious when it mattered most. Bucky was what made him smile, even in the heat of the battle.

Steve was dead. He shouldn’t still be thinking of him. He wasn’t ever coming back.

He recovered his wits in time for Stark to finish speaking, and tried to steer the conversation back to Loki. He needed information about the God.

“Does Loki need a specific power source, or is this the most convenient?”

Bruce shook his head. “He would have to heat the cube to 120-million kelvin just to break through the Coulomg barrier.”

He understood half of that sentence.

“Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabilise the quantum tunnelling effect,” Stark shot back, and it quirked a smirk on Bruce’s face.

“Well, if he could do that, he could achieve heavy ion fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

Stark gave him a wide grin as he threw up his arms invitingly. “Finally. Someone who speaks English.”

“You tell yourself that,” Bucky muttered under his breath. Stark either ignored him, or didn’t hear him; Bucky thought it was the former.

“It's good to meet you, Dr Banner. Your work on antielectron collisions is unparalleled. And I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage-monster.!

“Thanks,” Bruce said with dry humour at the same time Bucky straightened his back and exclaimed, “That’s a joke, right?”

Bruce turned to look at him, utterly confused. “I’m sorry, I – I don’t know what you mean?”

“Enormous green rage-monster? Is that – what, some kind of metaphor?”

Everyone in the room stared at him. And by everyone, he meant _everyone that was supposed to be keeping the plane flying, too._

“Are – are _you_ kidding?” Stark asked him. “That’s a good one. I knew you were a fossil, Sarge, but I didn’t think you’d have lost your mental capacity so soon.”

Bucky’s blood boiled, realising exactly what was going on here, and it was exactly the same culprit as it usually was.

“ _Captain._ Where is Fury,” he demanded with a quiet intensity.

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube.” Came the very man’s voice as he came into the room.

Bucky swirled to glare at the older man, and he grit his teeth.

“Why are you keeping information from me?” he spat through his teeth, outraged.

“I could ask you the same damn question,” Fury retorted, only stepping closer. “Since the minute you woke up you have not told as a _thing_ about why _you’re_ alive, and why Steve Rogers is dead. As soon as you start sharing and caring, we’ll get a little friendlier.”

The very words made Bucky feel as if a bucket of ice water had dropped over his head; he knew they wanted him to be Steve. He knew they wanted to find Steve frozen in the ice.

But he wasn’t. Fuck them all for wanting a dead man, God knows Bucky wanted him too.

“How the hell do you want me to work with these people when I know nothing about them? I know _nothing_ of their skillsets, I don’t know what they can do, and God help us, I don’t know half of their damn _names_!”

“Then sit your grown ass down and _ask_ , because once again, I am not your keeper.”

Bucky ground his teeth, fully aware of the seemingly endless pairs of eyes trainedon the two of them. He huffed a deep breath, calming himself down.

“I would start,” he continued at last, changing the subject to the _important_ matter at hand. “With Loki’s stick. Looks magical, but it also looks a hell of a lot like a Hydra weapon.” He stepped away from Fury, but continued, the blinding, neon blue light the subject of many a nightmare before – “And trust me. I’ve been up close and _personal_ to Hydra weapons.”

“I don’t know about Hydra weapons,” Fury responded, and it was too flippant, too ignorant, and it had his eyes narrowing to slits. “But it is powered by the cube.”

“The tesseract. Another thing you neglected to tell me.”

“I would like to know,” Fury continued as if Bucky had never spoken. “How Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

Really? Oz? At a time like this? He caught Thor’s baffled look and groaned internally.

“Monkeys? I do not understand.”

“Loki is the Wicked Witch of the West, and, what, we’re all Toto and Dorothy?” he complained mildly, getting only raised eyebrows in return.

“Shall we play, Doctor?” he heard Stark ask behind him, and Bruce replied,

“This way, sir.”

He didn’t blame them. He was eager to get out too.

He followed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firsts and foremost: sorry. Sorry for the insanely long absence, for anyone that's actually still interested in this fic, but updates are hopefully coming more reliably. I got a lot of work, then worked on other fics for a while, and now I'm close to almost a whole month free of everything other than my job.  
> I hope whoever decides they want to carry on reading enjoys this, and forgives my horrifically long break.  
> I kept my promise, at least, that this chapter would wrap up the events of the Avengers movie. Note: I do not apologise for my presentation of Bucky here. This is how I imagine him being CA, so. sue me.  
> Unbeta'd, so let me know of any issues and i'll fix 'em.

Bucky… sat around doing nothing.

Sat in that stupid, bright-as-a-neon-light suit, there was nowhere he could go without getting weird looks, and at least these men were already used to the strange garb he was wearing.

He sat opposite the two scientists as they discussed… science. Those old science-fiction movies at the pictures had always been his favourites. He’d always had a strange interest in science as a whole, but it embarrassed him how little he knew about a subject he thought he’d loved.

Bucky decided it was interesting to see how the younger Stark acted and behaved, and it was odd how alike his father he was. Didn’t shut up, same, arrogant sway and smirk, same defensive humour.

“You know,” he swam into focus, hearing Anthony say, “You should come by Stark Towers sometime,” he side eyed Bucky too. “You too, cyborg. Top ten floors all R&D. you’d love it. It’s candy land.”

Once again, he had no idea what that meant.

“Thanks but the last time I was in New York I kind of broke Harlem.” Bucky frowned at Bruce.

“Is this to do with your…” he sighed, unable to find the words. Bruce frowned at him, eyebrows creating a furrow in his forehead.

“You really don’t know anything about us, do you?” he surmised, and Bucky gave a limp shrug. Bruce seemed to hesitate before pulling his glasses off and wiping them down with his shirt. “In an attempt to recreate the super soldier serum, I was exposed to Gamma radiation that left me with anger problems the size of Manhattan.” He summarised.

“Why were you exposed to Gamma radiation?” Bucky asked, appalled. Steve definitely hadn’t mentioned _that_ part of the serum.

“Well, I was given a serum, one we’d hoped to be similar to Captain Rogers’s, but the process needed to be sped up. We used Gamma rays, because we didn’t know the original. It was never recorded.”

 _Vita rays_ , Bucky thought with a pang, thinking back on a very unfriendly conversation he’d had early in his relationship with Howard, before they’d gotten warmer and more used to one another. With a glance at the two men, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He still didn’t know if he could trust these men, whether they were supposed to be his allies or not.

“Alright,” he conceded hesitantly, brows furrowing. “But – to take Stark’s words out of his own mouth, ‘giant green rage monster’?”

Bruce shrugged, sheepish, cheeks pink. “Exactly what he said. I get angry, I get… green.”

A monitor the younger Stark had been fiddling with suddenly swivelled, and Bucky was left staring at a video of an undeniably enormous, green, anthropomorphic _thing_ that shrieked a horrifying roar as it pounded into buildings.

“Christ,” Bucky marvelled without thinking. “You’re a regular Jekyll and Hyde!”

He stared open mouthed at the two other men, feeling himself clam up and cheeks pinking when they just stared at him.

“Well,” Stark said after a long moment. “No one said Captain America was a nerd. Did you know he was a nerd?”

“I – the other guy isn’t a – a Hyde. We call him Hulk.” Bruce stuttered as if Tony hadn’t spoken at all. “I don’t choose to turn into him.”

Bucky’s brows knitted together. “You’ve – you’ve read the book?” Tony scoffed, and Bruce nodded slowly. Bucky pressed his lips together, finally finding a way to explain himself to someone from the _future_. Who knew this would be so hard? “Then – is it like when Jekyll wakes as Hyde in the night, without his own decision to?” Bruce hesitated, so Bucky just continued, clarifying further. “You can’t control – uh, your other side, I guess. But he’s always there. Thrumming under the skin like an itch you can’t scratch.”

“One I can’t scratch until I get angry,” Bruce murmurs, understanding and relief lighting up his eyes.

Steve felt the same way when he was five feet and skinny and no one took him seriously. Captain America was Steve’s other side.

He died for it.

“I can’t believe icicle is trying to relate to us through _literature_ ,” Tony complained. “He really is a hundred years old.”

“Ninety – it’s May, right? – ninety five.”

“I really want to keep this one.”

 

Stark went stir crazy after just a couple of minutes.

“Why did Fury call us, and why now?” he asked, confused and shaking his head. “Why not before? What isn’t he telling us? I can’t do the equation unless I have all the variables.”

“Fury’s hiding something,” Bucky sighed. “No doubt about it. He’s been hiding things from me since the start.”

“He’s been hiding _you_ from the start,” Stark added. “He’s a spy, Sarge.”

“Captain.”

“His secrets have secrets.” Stark ignored him and glanced over at the other doctor in the room, who was vehemently not looking in their direction. “It’s bugging you too, isn’t it?”

“I – um,” he hesitated, babbling. “I just wanna finish my work here…”

“Bruce..?” Bucky asked softly, sensing his distress.

“Loki’s jab about the cube. ‘A warm light for all mankind’.” Bucky nodded, furrowing his brows. “I think it was meant for you, Tony. Even if Barton didn’t post that all over the news.”

Despite himself, Bucky scoffed. “Stark Tower? That big ugly building in Manhattan?” Tony gave him an exaggeratedly hurt look.

“You _wound_ me.”

“It’s powered by Stark reactor technology,” Bruce interrupted. “It’ll run itself for… what, a year?”

“That’s just the prototype,” Tony dismissed, before adding smugly. “I’m kind of the only name in clean energy right now.”

“So why didn’t SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project?” he questioned. “What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?”

“I’ll look into that once my decryption programmer finishes breaking into all of SHIELD’s secure files.” Tony dismissed.

Bucky blinked, brows furrowing as he tuned back into the conversation with a start.

“What?” he asked for possibly the millionth time since he woke up.

“JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge.” He pulled out a bag of blueberries from nowhere and popped one into his mouth. “In a few hours, we’ll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide.” He held the bag towards Bucky. “Blueberry?”

“Are those real?” he asked instinctively, before shaking the distraction from his mind. “No wonder they don’t want you around.”

“Come on, of course they’re _real,_ I’m not going to poison you,” he shook the bag again, and Bucky just sighed and took one. He’d never had a blueberry before, after all. “And besides. An intelligence organization that fears intelligence? Historically not possible.”

“Loki’s trying to wind us up,” Bucky sighed, mildly annoyed. “He wants to start a war, so we should be focused. But if Fury’s not telling us the whole truth, we can’t follow the orders we’re given.”

Tony grinned, eyes taking on a sly, devious glint that Bucky had seen thousands of times in the eyes of his men, in the eyes of Steve.

“Following’s not really my style.” Tony jibed, and Bucky snorted, thinking back to he and Stark’s first interaction.

“You’re _all_ about style, right, Stark?”

“Hey! I’m not the one wearing a spangly outfit.”

“You _are_ the one who wears huge plates of metal spray painted red and gold. What are you, a race car?”

Tony looked positively _giddy_ , but Bruce just huffed a laugh and interrupted,

“This whole thing smells funky to me.”

Bucky just snickered and shrugged. “Let’s focus on finding the cube for now.”

With that, he took his leave, recognising that there was definitely more about this flying ship than Fury would have them believe.

His newly enhanced hearing managed to catch Tony sighing to Bruce,

“Why did my dad spend so much time talking about Rogers when _Barnes_ was the firecracker?”

Despite himself, he let himself smile.

Steve would tear that kid apart.

As for the task at hand, Bucky just took off in whatever directions took his fancy, not paying much attention to where he was headed until he started to notice the gradual increase in cameras as he turned. He slowed to a stop at a T-shaped corridor and checked both his left and right, heading slowly, resolutely, towards the area with more cameras, coming across a heavy, reinforced iron door.

 _What’s this doing in the hull hangar?_ He thought to himself, flexing the fingers of his metal hand.

He tugged it open, using a mixture of his own strength and the metal arm, surprised to find that, while it was difficult, he was able to open it. Before Azzano he never would have been able to crack it even a little.

He doesn’t bother with stealth. Whoever put so many cameras there already knows he’s in there – if there’s even anyone watching the feed. He suspected that everyone was preoccupied with the situation at hand.

There wasn’t anything particularly incriminating on the lowest level, which was disappointing until Bucky realised there’s an _upper_ level.

Seeing no ladder or stairs, Bucky just steeled himself before leaping as high as he could manage, able to grasp the upper part of the railing and tug himself over, leaving an impressive hollow in place of his fists.

He shrugged it off, turning to the masses of stacked metal crates as far as the room stretched, and, reaching for the nearest, undisturbed box, pushed the lid away.

His heart pulsed like a stampede of elephants, suddenly cold despite the sweat building up in the horrific suit because, like from his nightmares, there came that blue light that cost him _everything_.

 

“-what’s phase two?”

Bucky slammed the door as loudly as he could manage, expression an imitation of Ares in the midst of a battle, the gun hitting the table so hard he could have sworn there would be a dent in it afterwards.

“ _Phase two_ ,” he spat. “Is _SHIELD_ uses the cube to make _weapons_. Or should I skip the middle man and call you _Hydra?_ ” he turned to Tony and gave him a listless, courteous shrug. “Computer’s a little slower than I expected.”

By the way Fury’s poised expression had faltered and deadened, Bucky knew with a sick sense of satisfaction that he had caught the asshole off-guard.

“Barnes, we gathered everything we could find related to the tesseract. That does not mean we’re-”

Tony interrupted him then, smarmy and smug as he slid a computer monitor to face the one-eyed man.

“Sorry, Nick, what were you lying?”

“I was right,” he seethed, but there was no triumph to his tone. “The world hasn’t changed.”

“Did you know about this?” Bruce demanded, gaze suddenly steely, and did Bucky see green in his eyes? He swivelled to see who he was talking to, catching Romanoff, and the weird alien prince.

“You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?” she redirected the conversation, purposeful and sly.

“I was in Calcutta,” he sneered. “I was pretty well removed.”

Bucky had _no_ idea what that meant, but –

“Loki’s manipulating you.”

“And you’ve been doing _what_ exactly?”

“You didn’t come here because I bat my eyelashes at you,” she shot back, stance changing so subtly he doubted anyone noticed.

“Yes, and I’m not leaving because suddenly you got a little twitchy. I’d like to know why SHIELD is using the tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction.”

“I second that sentiment,” Bucky seethed.

“Because of _him_!” Fury said, pointing like an insolent child to the colossal mass of the Prince of Asgard.

To his credit, the giant did look startled.

“Me?” he demanded.

Bucky couldn’t even comprehend the speed at which the conversation devolved into chaos, an endless current of arguing and disagreements, finding himself on the other end of a verbal tirade against the youngest Stark, for decisions he barely understood himself.

His head thrummed like the angry beating of a drum, blood singing to something familiar something – something _burning_.

“Oh come _on_ , Stark!” he roared at last. “What are you? You’re a little kid playing with daddy’s toys, trying to live up to _daddy’s_ name and _daddy’s_ money. How much of that fortune is _yours?_ ”

“How much of _your_ power is yours? Hm?” he retorted instantaneously. “Everything you are is a _bastard_. You’re the discount Captain America that has powers that he shouldn’t have, and that means that just like the real deal, everything about you came out of a bottle, but _this_ bottle was from a dangerous back-alley.”

“You know what, Stark?” he stepped closer, the man seeming even smaller as he got closer. “Put on your suit. Let’s see how it handles my serum and your generous _gift_.”

“You people are so _petty_!” Thor chuckled, almost a _giggle_. “And tiny…”

He felt rather than saw Tony move away from him, and, like he’d been doused in cold water, his vision stopped blurring.

“Agent Romanoff, would you escort Dr. Banner back to his-”

“Where? You rented my room.”

“The cell was _just in case_ -”

“In case you needed to kill me, but you _can’t_. I know. I _tried_.”

Bucky swallowed, unable to bring himself to drop his gaze from the doctor. He’d tried to kill himself too, hadn’t he? Suicide mission. Hoped to see Steve again.

“I got low.” He sounded almost ashamed. “I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out! So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show and put everyone here at risk!”

His gaze twisted unnervingly towards Romanoff, and even she looked ready to bolt.

“Wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff?” he murmured, almost a whisper. “Wanna know how I _stay calm_?”

Fury and Romanoff reached for their guns almost in tandem to one another.

“Bruce,” Bucky called quietly. “Put down the sceptre.”

The doctor’s gaze dropped to his own hand and looked stunned to see his fists white and tight around the handle.

A computer beeped, interrupting the tense moment like a knife cut through butter.

“Got it,” Tony sounded triumphant as Bruce put the sceptre on the table and turned to the computer.

“Sorry kids, you don’t get to see my little party trick after all.”

“Thank God _,_ ” Bucky growled.

“Located the tesseract?” Thor demanded.

“I can get there faster.” Tony dismissed.

“The tesseract belongs on Asgard. No human is a match for it!”

Tony seemed set on ignoring the God, ready to leave, but Bucky couldn’t let him go without a fight.

“You can’t go alone, Stark, you don’t know a thing about-”

“You gonna _stop_ me, Barnes? Cause I don’t think you can.”

Banner’s exclamation of, ‘Oh my God!’ was possibly the only thing stopping Bucky from decking him right there, but only a _millisecond_ later flames erupted from the floor. He was sent sprawling on one direction, Tony in another, Romanoff and Bruce fell below the room, and he couldn’t make out the whereabouts of anyone else in the confusion.

“Put on the suit!” he shouted to Stark, who hummed in agreement as he darted out of the now no-longer-there room. Bucky wasn’t far behind, listening into the coms to figure out the source of the confusion.

He overheard Hill through the coms say that an engine was down and if no one could fix it, they were all dead. He shared a hurried, silent nod with Tony as they changed directions, Bucky in search of the engine.

“I’ll meet you there!” Tony shouted back.

It turned out it wasn’t hard to find, because it – it mostly wasn’t there. The huge turbines were producing sparks and rubbing against one another horribly.

“I’m here!” he yelled to the com for Tony.

“Good,” Tony responded, his suit flying close to the engine. “Let’s see what we got.”

He started to speak words that were only gibberish to Bucky, but he let the genius carry on, or Bucky might be dead in five minutes time. Not the first time in that situation, but he was working on it.

“Get to that engine control panel and tell me which relays are in overload position.”

“That I can do,” he muttered optimistically, staring determinedly at the control panel opposite him. He steeled himself before leaping over to the other side, yanking open the control panel and –

And having no idea what the fuck he was looking at.

“What’s it look like in there?”

“-Electricity?” he hazarded a guess.

“You’re not wrong.”

He looked harder, trying to make out whatever he could understand of the box before coming to the conclusion that-

“The relays are intact. What now?”

“This thing won’t re-engage without a jump,” Tony sounded irritated even over coms. “I’m gonna have to give it a push.”

“This is going to end well! Tin can in a metal turbine?”

“Oh, boy, you and I are gonna be great friends… Stand by that red lever and wait for my word, then _pull_!”

Without a second’s hesitation, he returned to his original position and waited with baited breath before  -

“Who the fuck-” he muttered to himself as bullets pinged around him. His gaze dropped down, noticing a small army of guys with guns and grenades preparing to kill him.

“Fucking _great_ ,” he hissed, jumping down and, without hesitation, starting to bash the living daylights out of those asshole’s faces. One of them unfortunately won himself a ticket to the fucking ocean, while more started piling in through the door. He clambered back up to the top floor and grabbed the abandoned gun at his feet and, taking a second to aim, had the first guy down within four bullets. The second only took two. Their protective headgear, confusingly, didn’t seem to be very effective.

“Barnes, I need that lever _now_!” Tony cut in, and to his horror, he realised that he had been ignoring the static of his com in favour of getting rid of the guys trying to kill him. He tugged on the lever too late, hearing the unpleasant sounds of metal ricocheting and winced.

“Sorry!” he called over the com, hoping Tony was still alive.

The pinging stopped a second later and the golden suit flew through immediately after, taking down the very last of the guys trying to kill him, his suit flickering as Tony breathed heavily.

“Go us.” Bucky groaned, adrenaline rush dying down and his head whacking against the wall. “Ow.”

_“Agent Coulson is down-”_

_“Paramedics or on their way.”_

_“They’re here.”_

Bucky listened in, fear turning his muscles to lead and leaving his chest cold. Not another man. Not another person so soon.

“ _They called it_.”

 

 

“These… were in Phil Coulson’s jacket. Guess you never got to sign them.”

The paper that twisted in mid-air was stained crimson, landing poignantly in front of Bucky. He picked one up, blood on his hands, and could have laughed when he realised that it was Steve’s image on the underside, bloodstained.

Because of him.

Two men have died thanks to his uselessness in the field. And _he_ was Captain America?

Bucky doesn’t listen to the rousing speech Fury gave them.

He doesn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him, but Bucky was already locked in an age old grief.

When Fury left, he could finally bring himself to speak.

“Was he married?” his voice faltered, already imagining going to their house personally, sitting them down and telling them what a hero he was.

“No. There was – uh, a cellist, I think.”

“He – he seemed like a good man.”

“He was an idiot.”

Bucky’s snort was a half-sob.

“The two have a lot more in common than you think.” He muttered. “He was doing his job.”

“He – he should have waited, should have-”

“There’s not always a way out.”

He thought of – of snow and crimson, of red and blue staining pure white of his failure.

“How’d that work out for him?”

“It didn’t. It never gets any easier. Losing people. But you already know that. Is that why you push everyone away, Tony?” he dragged his gaze to the man’s face and for the first time, Bucky saw a _child_. A scared little boy that really did want to make his father proud. Make the world proud.

“This is Loki’s point. He hit us all right where we live. Why?” he completely derailed the conversation, and Bucky could have laughed.

“He was trying to tear us apart.”

“He knows he has to take us out to win right? He wants to beat us. He wants to be _seen_ doing it. He wants an audience.”

Bucky leaned back, gaze falling to the red table as his mind flickered over the images of Germany.

“That makes sense,” he murmured an assent. “I interrupted his play.”

“That was a preview. This is opening night. He’s a diva, he wants flowers, parades, a monument in the skies with his name-”

He cut himself off so suddenly Bucky feared his mind had imploded.

“Tony?”

“Son of a bitch.” He murmured to himself.

 

He hated that uniform with a passion, but he had nothing better to wear.

“We gotta go,” he called to Romanoff, leaning against a doorway. “Can you fly a jet? Last time I took a plane for a spin I died. I’d rather not repeat that.”

“I can.” Came an unfamiliar voice from a familiar face. Natasha looked mildly ashamed, and Bucky managed to identify him as her missing guy. “Wait, who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes. Who are you?”

“Uh – Hawkeye.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, before shrugging.

“Sure, why not. Put on a suit, meet me in the hangar.”

 

The shield on his arm felt _right_. Even if it didn’t belong to him, he was taking good care of it.

Steve would want that.

The three of them stormed the hangar to find a free Quinjet. He could have howled when a pilot stepped nervously in their way and declared,

“You’re not authorised to be here-”

“Believe me, kid, I know. Take that up with the big guy in the sky, now get out of my way.”

The kid got out of his way.

 

“So… you’re…”

“Yes.”

“But… Uh, I thought…?”

Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes. “You’re either gonna say ‘I thought you were dead’ or ‘I thought Steve Rogers was alive’. Fuck both of those things pal.”

“Uh…”

“Bucky is fine. I’m Captain America, not Sergeant Barnes, don’t fuck with me, I’m perpetually confused by modern society and I am on my way to fight _fucking aliens_. Let’s have this conversation later.”

“Understood.” Hawkeye agreed firmly, eyes wide.

Bucky overheard him whisper to Romanoff, “This guy legit?” her response was inaudible, but he assumed it was to the affirmative. “I think he’s crazy. And I just got brain-whammied.”

“We’re all crazy for going headfirst into this shit, now keep your eyes on the skies, bird boy.”

 

“Stark, we’re on your three, headed north east.” Romanoff radioed in, Bucky tapping nervously on the ground. Nazis were one things. Shoot them in the head, heart, gut, they die. Aliens apparently had a whole different anatomy.

_“What did you stop for drive-thru? Swing up Park, I’m gonna lay ‘em out for you.”_

Hawkeye moved instantly, without hesitation, and only a moment later, Tony came shooting into view a group of what-the-fuck-evers trailing behind him with the intent to kill. The jet’s weapons geared up and armed, shooting the aliens as soon as they got within range.

Bucky wasn’t looking at the aliens, though. His gaze was turned to the streets, horror coating every inch of his insides as people ran, screaming for cover and safety.

He gathered his resolve; those people needed safety. It was the reason he’d taken on Steve’s name, the reason he’d plunged that plane in the ice.

Hawkeye put the aim of their weapons onto Loki, pelting bullets full force until he turned his sceptre onto the jet. Both he and Romanoff dove to the sides for cover, and Bucky jumped to grasp onto the roof of the jet – possibly the most stable part, but not for long.

The jet nose-dived into the ground, one wing set aflame by Loki’s attack, but they were lucky enough to get away mostly unscathed. The jet managed to open the door enough to have the three of them running out with eyes all around them.

“Shit!” Bucky yelled, catching of the aliens swarming the tower. “We gotta get up there-”

He was interrupted by a noise so loud that it was probably more accurate to call it a bone-rattling vibration, working from his toes to the hair on his head. He looked to the source with a drowning sense of dread, finding an enormous – _creature_ , not unlike the aliens surrounding them, but colossal in size. It looked like it could easily outweigh ten whales, but was still airborne, flying overhead and leaving Bucky struck dumb.

“I’m not the only one seeing that, right?” he called into his comms.

_“If I were high, I’d lay off the brownies. Where’s Banner?”_

“Not here. Should he be?”

“ _Keep me posted.”_

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” he complained with a growl, turning his gaze analytically back to the task at hand. “Okay…is that – is that _Loki?_ ”

Before anyone could reply, Loki fired, flying towards them on some sort of _hover car_ with no wheels. People on every side were screaming, explosions raging as cars were smashed and people running, falling, crying-

“They need help,” he muttered to himself, horror turning into resolution.

There was an unearthly _crash_ from only feet away, and they swivelled in unison to find the Chitauri firing up their weapons in their direction.

Romanoff didn’t hesitate, pulling her guns from her sides in a second, firing back without hesitation.

“We got this, go!”

Bucky shot a hurried look towards Hawkeye, giving him a terse nod before Bucky leapt off the side, rolling as he made contact and managing not to get himself squished under the car as an explosion had it rearing up.

“Goddamn fucking aliens,” he complained under his breath as he sprinted toward the plaza. “Been awake a few months and they got me on fucking alien duty.”

Even worse, there were police officers that had barricaded themselves behind piles of cars, shooting uselessly at the aliens with their guns. Romanoff, she could manage her guns. These guys…

He dove towards them, landing in a crouch on top of a car while there was a respite in the aliens coming towards them.

“Okay,” he took in a sharp breath, looking around him analytically. “Put guys in those buildings and get everyone in there _out_. Put them on the subway, take ‘em to the basement, I don’t care, just get ‘em off the streets. Put up a perimeter –” he hesitated, estimating the damage as best he could. “Far back as 39 th, and get to it _quick_.”

He pulled himself up and got ready to sprint away before he was _rudely_ interrupted by the police sergeant.

“Why the hell should I take orders from _you_?” he demanded, looking a bit insulted at the idea.

Bucky groaned with the effort it took not to burst into flames. “Look, pal,” he started warningly. “I am in the middle of a fucking warzone wearing _spandex._ You think I’m fuckin’ around?”

He wasn’t nearly done with his tirade, but before either of them could speak, one of _things_ in question came crashing down beside him, amidst an explosion, and Bucky straightened immediately.

Bucky sensed rather than saw the fucking _laser beam_ coming at him, but he just shifted the shield to his right arm, simultaneously grasping for the one beside him with his left. It was at least somewhat fleshy, so ripping through it’s throat (did they have throats? Did aliens have anatomy? What the fuck?) was unpleasant, but it wasn’t the worst he’d done. Another one, as the first was twitching in his metal grasp, landed beside him. He let the first fall limp as he jumped at the second, using his shield to bash the living daylights out the alien-thing. When it made the mistake of reaching an arm up as if to swat him away, he used both his shield and his arm to yank the alien’s from it’s socket (once again, alien anatomy?).

As he hit it once more in it’s maybe-throat, it fell into a twitching, clicking heap on top of the first.

Bucky was only slightly winded as he gave the officer a particular smug look.

Wisely, he turned and started barking orders exactly the same as what Bucky had instructed.

“Wasn’t so fuckin’ hard, was it,” he muttered under his breath as he leapt away, sure to find someone else to help.

It was, as he said, a warzone. Debris flung every which way, people running in any and every direction, paying no attention to where they were going only that it was _away_ from the aliens.

He helped as much as he could, pulling some people from the midst of the fighting, from under debris, whatever he could manage, until he had to re-join Romanoff and Hawkeye. They were overwhelmed, and they knew it; She had to run out of bullets eventually, and he was bound to run out of arrows.

Bucky tried with all his might, flinging the shield like Steve would, using it’s absence as an opportunity to strike with his stronger, more invincible left arm until it returned and he could start the process again.

It didn’t matter. There were too many of them. What glances he could throw to the sky-portal showed him that their numbers certainly weren’t dwindling. In fact, more likely skewering the _other_ way, despite their best efforts.

Bucky was beginning to let panic seep into his bloodstream when there was a sudden crack of lightning more powerful than any bomb; the electricity fired out at the aliens, sending them convulsing backwards and falling down dead.

Not a second later, the alien prince hits the ground, and Bucky could cry with relief.

“What’s up with the portal thing?” Bucky called as soon as he could breathe right again.

Thor looked remorseful. “”The powers surrounding the cube are impenetrable.”

 _“Thor’s right. We gotta deal with these guys_.”

“Figured that for myself, Stark,” Bucky grunted.

“How do we do this?” Romanoff asked, looking around the four of them with an almost hesitance to her; he got the feeling she so rarely expressed such a feeling.

“Together,” he sighed I response, knowing it was what Steve would have said, and because it was true; they had no one else to call, no other people that could help them… they were on their own.

“I have unfinished business with Loki.” Thor boomed, and Hawkeye gave him a pretty dirty look.

“Get in line,” he hissed. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“Look, we’ll deal with Loki _later_. Right now we need to figure out how to get up to Stark-”

He heard a low rumble off to his side and tensed, turning towards the noise with his shield raised, ready to launch into action at a moment’s notice. Instead of a new alien, however, he was only greeted with the particularly ridiculous sight of Bruce Banner, driving in on a pathetic motorbike looking sheepish.

He clambered off of the bike, looking no less guilty as he stared around him.

“So… this all seems horrible.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Romanoff muttered behind him, and Bruce cringed.

“Sorry,” he brought his shoulders up, almost a wince.

“No, we could… use a little worse.”

Whatever she meant by that, Bucky couldn’t agree more – as long as the _worse_ was on their side.

“Tony,” he called into his comms. “You were right. We got Banner.”

_“Perfect. Tell him to green-out, cause I’m bringing the party to you.”_

It was barely a minute before the red and gold metal plates came flying out from behind a building, a humungous space whale roaring after him. Bucky really wanted to just go back into the ice.

“I don’t see how that’s a party,” Romanoff mused, her face coated in distaste.”

“Bruce…” he trailed off lowly, but the green tinge to Bruce’s eyes showed Bucky that whatever he was going to say had already crossed his mind.

“Don’t worry. Hyde’s coming out to play.” He mumbled with a wry smile, and before Bucky’s very eyes, the body of the uneasy doctor contorted and swelled, skin becoming greener and greener with every second until his new form was easily five times as tall as Thor, muscles as thick as the God’s shoulders, too.

“That’s one hell of a medical condition,” Bucky muttered dazedly.

The space whale alien was coming towards them at full speed, which made Bucky very, _very_ nervous, but Bruce – Hulk? – just punched it square in its alien nose with enough force for the Chitauri monster to almost flip over itself, just feet away from them. Bucky missed whatever Tony did after, but whatever it was, it left the space whale screeching and roaring. Out of nowhere, chunks of its skin started flying everywhere, and he realised with not a second to spare that the thing was combusting.

He leapt over to Romanoff and Hawkeye, shoving them behind his body and raising his shield in his left hand, twisting it so that it covered the three of them as best he could. They were normal humans, as far as he could tell, exhausted by the battle already.

When the blaze abated, the sound of metal screeching fell onto his ears as part of the alien’s body was sent rolling in one direction, away from them. The sound of alien shrieking also greeted his ears, and when Bucky turned to look, he could see the human-sized aliens watching them intently, preparing their own attack.

It didn’t matter though; in that second, surrounded by strangers, people that before today he’d never met before, they were unbeatable.

“Guys,” Romanoff cut in next to him, and when he glanced at her, he saw her gaze turned to the sky.

“Ah, fuck,” he cussed when he looked up too. There, in the sky, were more aliens overflowing out of the portal, like the dam had broken with the space whale.

“Sarge, got a plan?” Tony still managed to sound chipper, but he’d heard that tone before; when Dugan had been looking for a way out and turned to Steve; when Gabe was unconscious and nobody could understand the desperation in Dernier’s words.

“Okay,” he took a harsh breath, surveying the damage as best he could “We need to get up there, that’s fact, but we need to stop those things getting outside the perimeter. Hawkeye,” he shot a glance to the man he’d met an hour ago. “I trust your name actually means something, so you go up on that roof and keep your eyes on everything. Keep us informed about strays. Tony – perimeter. Anything gets out, it’s dead.”

Hawkeye looked undaunted as he tipped his chin towards Tony. “Wanna give me a lift?”

“Right,” Tony responded. “Better clench up, Legolas.” He taunted before, a second later, setting off into te sky, Hawkeye in his hands.

“ _Legolas…_ ” he turned the word over in his mouth and shrugged it off. No use for distractions now. “Thor, do whatever you can to turn the tide up there. Do that – I don’t know, that lightning thing. Electrocute them.” Thor gave him a terse nod before using his hammer to propel himself into the sky.

“Romanoff,” he turned to her. “We’re here. We need to keep the fighting here and away from civilians.” He turned to the gigantic green monster last. “Uh, Hulk… smash. Yeah, smash.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about the predatory smile Hulk gave him as he leapt away, jumping high enough to soar into a building.

 

Bucky, after that, was lost in the fighting; Nazis had nothingon these damn aliens. Ther ewere so many of them.

He’d had to destroy some inside a building housing fleeing civilians, had to give Romanoff a boost into the sky with the shield, and had been sent flying through a window, which wasn’t particularly fun.

Thor and he had teamed up, using the interesting move that levelled a forest earlier to down the soldiers that were swarming them on every side.

 _“I can close it!”_ Romanoff sounded triumphant and desperate over the comms. “ _Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!”_

“Do it!” Bucky screeched in reply, muscles already preparing for the adrenaline to seep out of him.

 _“WAIT_!” a third voice insisted, just as desperate as Romanoff. Tony.

“For fucks – they’re _still_ coming, Tony-”

“There’s a nuke coming in – it’s gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.”

He wasn’t totally sure about what he was doing until he saw Tony fly into the portal with an enormous looking bomb – one that looked eerily similar to those he had diffused in 1945 on a plane that should have killed him.

“Tony, you’re gonna get yourself _killed_!” he warned, stepping forward and grimacing though there was nothing he could do about it.

He got no reply.

Bucky held his breath.

 _“Come on Stark…”_ Romanoff muttered, mostly to herself, but her comm was broken and perpetually on.

“Keep it open until he comes back,” Bucky warned. “I’m _not_ losing another man on my watch-”

Not after he’s lost so many.

It’s not even a minute after he says it that Tony’s form, tiny and almost black against the sky, is plummeting out of the portal. It closes up almost instantly after, Romanoff’s reflexes having shut the portal as soon as she noticed his fall.

“Thank fuck,” Bucky breathed, almost a laugh, almost a sob, until he looked harder.

“He’s not slowing down.” Thor rumbled, already swinging his hammer, halfway into the air before the Hulk crashed into the falling body from a place that Bucky hadn’t seen. Tony was like a little ragdoll in the grasp of the green giant, and hee was gracelessly thrust onto the ground.

His suit was frozen, cold to the touch despite everything that had happened. Thor ripped off Tony’s helmet and Bucky swallowed down his words, his emotions, because that was the face of a dead man.

Too still, too peaceful, too quiet.

“Move,” he growled to Thor, fully prepared to yank him free from his suit and do CPR, whatever he could to save the world’s hero, but –

There was a deafening roar from Hulk, making Buccky flinch and cringe away, but –

“What the hell!” Tony’s voice cried from the ground, and Bucky’s whole body bucked in relief. “What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me…”

“You ain’t that lucky,” he sighed, closing his eyes for a second as he surveyed the remains of New York. “We did it.”

“Alright. Hey. Alright. Good job, guys. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it.” Tony babbled, and Bucky supposed that was fair for a man that almost died.

Thor, however, seemed to have other plans, gaze turned defiantly towards the top of the tower.

“We’re not finished yet.”

“… And then shawarma after?”

 

It was pretty entertaining to glare Loki down first thing after he woke up, Bucky had to admit.

 

Bucky was almost too exhausted to eat the strange food that Tony insisted on after the battle, but when he realised how decidedly not bland it was, he ate enough to feed a family of four before his eyes slipped shut and he was out cold, the adrenaline crash hitting him right where it hurt.

 

“Promise me something,” he spoke to Thor once he got the God alone. The humble prince nodded.

“If it is within reason, I shall do my best. What is your request?”

“Take that – the tesseract.” Every limb of his body, every digit trembled as the blue light behind his eyes grew bright and blinding. “Get it off this planet. Make sure it never sees the light of day again.”

Thor regarded him solemnly, with an impression of great age and wisdom that extended far beyond his youthful look. He was, after all, thousands of years old.

“I already planned to take it beyond Earth’s reach; you seem troubled, Captain. What issue do you take with the tesseract?”

Bucky grit his teeth. “It took everything from me. I want it gone before it can do the same to anyone else.”

Steve’s hand tight and sweaty in his.

Steve’s scream, the way his lips formed _I love you_ just before Bucky’s grip failed to keep him there.

The tesseract took everything from him. It took Steve.

“Of course,” Thor nodded, exhaling something too regal to be a sigh. “You have my word, Captain. I will do my utmost to ensure the tesseract remains far from Earth.”

“Thank you.” He replied with a nod, turning away from the God and back to his own, too-quiet life.

 

Loki leaving the planet with his brother and the tesseract wasn’t as satisfying as Bucky thought it would be.

He felt that it might have been down to the fact that he really had no problem with Loki. He may have destroyed New York, but unlike Schmidt, Loki hadn’t destroyed _his_ New York. Loki wasn’t his problem.

There was a touch of finality to Thor’s otherworldly disappearance, like a phase of his life had been sealed closed and another blew open. He turned, after a long moment, to his new bike, and drove somewhere away from the centre of his new life, where, for a little while, Bucky could become someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Bucky Barnes is a nerd that relates to people via literature. Sue me,  
> Next chapter focuses more deeply on Steve and Bucky's relationship, 'cause who am I kidding, that's what everyone came here to see.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop promising consistent updates, because they turn out to be huge lies. Sigh. Sorry! Life got super busy - I got a brilliant job, aced all my exams and came out kicking on the other end. I still love to write for this and other fics, too, though. So they won't be abandoned.  
> Bear in mind, though, that the way I write BuckyCap is the way I see him. He's not less than Steve in anyway, nor is he better. While he does have advantages over Steve's Cap, the opposite is also true. I don't want to reduce him to a robot that repeats more or less everyone word Steve ever uttered in the movies. If anyone wants to trade how they see BuckyCap, sound off in the comments! I'd love to hear them, and hell, I might get inspired (with permission, of course)

Steve’s grave was big.

His full name carved into stone, dates etched below. _Not a perfect soldier, but a Good Man,_ engraved below the dates. Peggy’s touch – all of it, he knew. There was a commemorative statue above it, a stone incarnation of the shield that was now his. A vase of plastic, ever red roses bloomed on top of the grave, planted between fake white daisies and blue belladonna.

Even after he died, Steve was still a symbol of America.

Bucky had sat gently on top of the patch of grass that stowed an empty coffin, hood high on his head at the risk of anyone noticing him. He didn’t do much else than stare, though. And talk, when he found something to say.

“I miss you,” had been the first thing he’d said. His vision blurred with tears. “I miss you so much. I’m so sorry…”

How could he find anything else to say?

He was stronger now; if he had to hazard a guess, about as strong as Steve had been. But he hadn’t been that strong on the train, when it mattered. When Steve clung to his hand for dear life, but Bucky wasn’t strong enough to pull him to safety, and Steve’s hand slipped from his grip.

Now he was stuck in a world he didn’t understand, full of people who wanted him to be Steve Rogers.

“I think you’d like Tony,” Bucky mused quietly, sighing as he looked at his lap. It was too easy to pretend Steve was listening. “He’s a lot like I am. Although…” he huffed a half-hearted laugh. “Maybe too much. He’s a little like Howard, but not really enough. Maybe you wouldn’t like him… I think you would if you gave him a chance.”

Tony had taken him aside a few days after the battle, looking like he’d been running on coffee, and finely-tuned his arm. He hadn’t realised how inhibiting it had been until his movements were smoother, and he could hold a pencil and shade even lighter than he had before. He was a nice guy under all those walls, and probably underneath all that shell-shock, too.

“I don’t think you’d like this world all that much,” he continued, tone falling from fake-enthusiasm to dejection. “It’s… there’s so much…” he sighed again, shaking his head. “Everything’s so different. People tell me that some things I say, they’re – they’re ‘wrong’ but they won’t explain why. It don’t make a lick of sense.

“This world ain’t really so bad though, I guess. People seem nice enough, but then, I was the one that saw the best in people. You just liked startin’ fights.”

At that point he lost the ability to speak, eyes completely swimming in tears, so he just lowered his head to rest on Steve’s headstone and let himself cry.

What he wouldn’t give to have Steve in his arms, have that blond mop of hair tickling his chest, have his lover’s arms wrapped around his body.

Bucky should be the one rotting at the bottom of that icy hell.

Steve deserved better.

 

Some nights he woke up in a cold sweat, the vomit-inducing image of Steve’s body flailing and falling head over hind, crying out for Bucky to come back for him until his head slammed wrong into a rock and for the rest of the fall he was silent.

When Steve’s body, landing on his back, hit the ground, his eyes were wide open and unseeing, expression forever set in fear as a puddle of crimson soaked into the pure snow.

That was always when Bucky woke up, tears drowning his pillow, sickness burning his throat.

 

 _“Many have speculated that the red-white-and-blue costumed man that assisted hundreds during the Battle of New York is in fact_ Captain America. _Many believe that SHIELD have reactivated the title and handed it down to a significant soldier that may have previous service in the military._

_“Of course, upon interviewing Tony Stark, Iron Man, about what he thinks of this theory, his reply entailed…”_

A video.

Tony’s grin, amused, smirking, superior.

_“Try again. Come back when you’ve got another theory. These’ll keep me going for weeks.”_

He opened the door to Fury’s office and shut it with a poignant _click_ , not quite a slam, but not quiet, either.

Fury looked up at him, no surprise in his gaze, but hooded with inquisitiveness and curiosity.

Bucky set his shield against the chair and sat down. He folded his arms and leant back, staring the director in his one eye for a long moment.

It took that long for Fury to exhale through his nose, and lean back himself, dropping his pen and mirroring Bucky’s pose, giving the Captain his full attention.

He was withholding candy from a baby until it said its first word – and Bucky was going to give him a speech.

“I was tortured,” he said bluntly, gaze and voice level though his tone was bitter, his lip curled into a sneer. “For over a month. Forgive me for not wanting to talk about it.” Fury didn’t respond, but Bucky hadn’t expected him to.

“Look,” he said impatiently, snappy and irritated, feeling like his blood was itching against his veins to get out of his skin, to escape the intense nausea and claustrophobia. “I didn’t know what they were doing to me until it was all over,” he forced out, almost gagging over the words. “They used the tesseract on me. I don’t know what it did, just that it fucking _hurt_. Everything they injected me with stung like a bitch, made my blood a living hell. I don’t ever want to discuss this again, so listen now, because when I leave this room, it will never be the subject of any conversation again.

“They were recreating –” his throat stumbled around the name, even as his mouth worked to say it. “Captain Rogers’ serum. I didn’t know that for a long time. None of what they said made sense to me. Those injections, the tesseract, even being on fucking ice, that all made me the way I am now.

“Is that enough?” he spat, jaw working as it clenched, foot tapping as he wanted nothing more than to gouge his eyes out to forget that face lingering above him.

Fury didn’t reply.

His expression hadn’t changed at all, neither had his position.

Bucky didn’t let his gaze waver; he’d already spewed out where every disgusting part of him had come from.

“Why,” Fury said at last, voice low and commanding. “Were you in the ice? Every record states that _you_ fell from that train.” His words were slow and quiet, as if he were careful of spooking him.

Bucky licked his lips, finally dropping his case to the corner of the desk.

“Steve fell. Not me. He was trying to protect me from a Hydra agent, but he got the better of him. I tried…” he swallowed, shaking his head. “He fell. It was the – the best thing to do. Tell the world he survived, I died. I wasn’t supposed to survive the crash. No one should ever have found out.”

“Why?” Fury asked simply with a sigh. “Why did the world need to know that Rogers died in the crash?”

“It made a difference,” Bucky shrugged, sighing. “I looked it up. Pilot training over the next ten years was up 16%. Army recruitment up 24%, drafts down 6%. General patriotism and enthusiasm up 42%. There’s a correlation there, and I knew what I was doing.”

“You did your research.” Fury sounded mildly impressed, even shooting a smile that looked curious, intrigued. “You’re a smart man, Captain Barnes.”

“You sound surprised. Like I didn’t spend twenty years of my life staying ahead of Rogers, and didn’t spend four years in specialist training.”

There was another beat of silence, and Fury’s chin tilted back.

“I don’t want you to be Steve Rogers.” He deadpanned at last, and Bucky raised his brows. “No, really. I don’t care who the fuck you are – Bucky Barnes or his great aunt Muriel. If you’re a good Captain America, I couldn’t give shit who you are. From what I’ve seen, that’s not going to be an issue. That leads us to the biggest issue we got: the public.”

“Right. I’m dead,” he replied dryly.

Bucky wondered if Fury could roll his eyepatch-eye so no one could see it.

“Yes. You are. Normally I wouldn’t offer this kind of deal, but frankly, Barnes, you’re both a dick, and a very valuable asset, so don’t take this lightly.”

Intrigued, Bucky sat up. “Oh?”

“I’ll assume that since you came here you’re joining SHIELD,” Bucky sighed in response, nodding sharply. “Then here are your options. One. We don’t release your identity to the public; you stay a behind the scenes, covert operative. Ghost agents are just as good as normal ones – sometimes better. Or two. We come out and tell the world that Bucky Barnes is alive and Captain America.”

That gave Bucky pause.

“I…” words failed him, mind racing over the two choices he’d been presented with. “It’s my choice? My decision, whatever happens from here on out, it’s on me?”

“Yes. Take your time, Barnes. This ain’t an easy option.”

“No need,” he said boldly, swallowing as the image of Steve, standing high and tall, surrounded by cheering soldiers, was seared into his brain. “Tell the public I’m alive.”

He couldn’t honour Steve or his legacy if he was still a dead man.

 

Tony was elected (read: loudly volunteered) to run the press conference, already being the biggest name in the Avengers.

Bucky was wearing the stupid suit from the Battle of New York, hating every inch of it, but knowing that the public needed to recognise him in some capacity. His metal fingers clanged against the vibranium of his shield nervously.

He knew that everything about releasing his identity was going to involve the same questions Fury had demanded of him.

If it weren’t too late, he’d almost consider changing his mind; but he couldn’t. Bucky Barnes may have been a coward, but Captain America certainly wasn’t.

“We decided to call this press conference because, frankly, the theories are getting out of hand. Really, Lindsay Lohan had another mental breakdown and dressed up in spandex? We just figured we ought to put you out of your misery.”

“Can you give us any indication as to whether our predictions were correct?” one reporter called from the crowd, and Bucky twisted to try to catch a glimpse, but couldn’t identify the person it belonged to.

“Sure – you were all fucking wrong. Literally light years off. My favourite theory was the one about the teletubbies. Classic.”

“How is it possible that all of our theories were wrong?” another reporter called indignantly. “Surely _someone_ out there must have guessed correctly?”

“Believe me, I looked – well. JARVIS looked. Not one person even came close, and that’s because there are a select few individuals that you wrongly assumed would be impossible culprits. Like one Steve Rogers, for example, or one Bucky Barnes.”

“Are you implying that Steve Rogers is _alive_?” The question was shouted out at different points among the crowd as it devolved into chaos, the question phrased in a hundred different ways.

“No, I’m telling you that _Bucky Barnes_ is alive.”

Bucky… was probably a bit too smug about causing so much surprise and chaos.

He stepped out, shield on his left arm, expression defiant.

The press went silent.

Bucky didn’t stop until he assumed his seat beside Tony, staring out daringly at any journalist that would meet his eyes.

“Hi.” He said dryly, “I hear that some of you guys like to pretend like I was a twelve year old sidekick. What’s up with that?”

There was only the sound of slow clicks, a noise he recognised from movies as being from cameras taking pictures.

He sighed. “Someone talk, for God’s sake.”

“Sergeant Barnes!” one voice called, then another, and another, until the whole room as alight with the sound of desperate questions. He scowled.

“ _Captain_ ,” he corrected, but he didn’t think anyone paid any attention.

 _Where is Captain Rogers?_ They ask.

“Rotting at the bottom of a cliff in the Alps,” Bucky spat, gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw and trying not to cry.

_Why isn’t he here?_

“He’s _dead_.”

He knew they were trying to ask him what Fury wanted to know, but he wouldn’t give that one up. Not yet.

“Steve Rogers is dead. He’s gone. He’s not coming back. The next person to ask me _why_ has the pleasure of being escorted out. He fell, I didn’t, I crashed the plane, and I am _here_. That’s all you need to know.”

“How did you survive?” came one question that actually had the rest of the room pulling up short. “You’re not enhanced.”

Bucky, for a long moment, stared down at his metal arm, and he knew that, at the very least, he owed them this.

“I’m sure you all know,” he struggled, swallowing his pride. “About the capture of my unit in ’43.” He looked out at the crowd, recognising with an ounce of relief the nods of the vultures. “Maybe you’re not aware of the – the torture that. That some prisoners were – were subjected to.” He really was struggling to talk, and even Tony was looking concerned, ready to jump in at any second but Bucky waved him off. “I was one of those prisoners. The only prisoner, actually, to survive at all.

“When – _Captain Rogers_ took the serum, it needed to be catalysed by radiation so that it could take effect. Without that catalyst, it would have taken decades for it to bind to his DNA. My theory is that… whatever I was subjected to was an alternative version of the serum, only ‘failing’,” he made air quotes, and Tony snorted next him. He kicked his foot. “Because they didn’t have the catalyst they didn’t know about. When I crashed into the ice, I was – I was cold enough to be sent comatose, but I think the serum had already begun to attach itself to the molecular structures in my body, so I didn’t freeze to death. So because I wasn’t dead, I was alive, but unable to age, the bastardized serum had enough time to coagulate within my body, taking effect over the seven decades I was in the ice, leaving me, to my knowledge, with a similar baseline ability to that of – of  Captain Rogers.”

For some reason, they were all struck dumb at having such an eloquent response. Hadn’t they expected such a precise answer?

“Too sciencey,” Tony huffed into the mike. “That’s my job, Sarge, you leave that to the professionals. With doctorates.”

“Your degrees in electrical engineering and physics make you undoubtedly qualified on the biology of super soldiers, I’m sure.” Bucky rolled his eyes, muttering drily under his breath.

The subject of the conference changed suddenly again and again, until Bucky was almost swept away by the ebb and flow of the tide.

 

 

His face was plastered over every newspaper in the store, every article had his name in the headline and Bucky…

Was mad.

They weren’t using his press photos, they weren’t using stills of him from the battle.

They used his _black and white_ photos. With his coiffed hair, and his sniper gun, and his blue jacket and his two functioning arms.

He was Sergeant Barnes, not Captain.

Enraged, he asked Tony’s artificial intelligence, JARVIS, who had taken some getting used to, if there was anything he could say about the matter.

The system had very politely informed him of a ‘social media platform’ called ‘Twitter’, where he could vent his frustrations in a quick, easily accessible manner.

Twenty minutes and an account later, @CapJBB sent out his first tweet, linking an article that called him Sergeant.

***Captain.**

Bucky was verified in 15 minutes, followers racking up to a digit Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever seen written down before, and had been retweeted too many times to even bother thinking about.

Bucky couldn’t fathom why he became such a media flytrap, after that. A constant barrage of journalists tweeting him (and his replies) meant that Pepper (Tony’s girlfriend?) had confiscated his account and turned it over to their public relations sector, where they would deal with the ebb and flow of the media.

He was pretty annoyed about that, but apparently his answers ‘weren’t being monitored thoroughly enough’ or something like that.

 

“Where did you learn to use technology? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, a grandpa? Get off my lawn, kinda grandpa? Get these thingamabobs out of my face and give me back my bingo card, kinda grandpa?”

“What kind of grandpa do you have?” Bucky deadpanned.

“I don’t have grandpas. They’re both dead,” Tony waved away. “Probably why I don’t understand grandpa culture.”

“Is that a thing?”

“No. You didn’t answer my question.”

“The Retreat. My rehabilitation. I had to do _something_ with all that free time.”

“I read up on your timetable during your rehabilitation. You had one hour free time a day, to fit in between all your physio, therapy, and art shit. What free time?”

Bucky smiled without humour.

“You’re a genius, Tony. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

Tony snorted. “Okay, fine. But seriously, you managed to navigate yourself around an iPhone?”

“Yeah. There are instructions in the box, and tutorials on YouTube. The Wi-Fi password was on the fridge.”

“You figured out Wi-Fi on your first day out of the ice?”

“Thrown into enemy territory without any contingencies, with only their tech to work with. What do you do?” Bucky challenged.

Tony went silent, a dark look flickering over his eyes for a long moment.

“Work with it,” he admitted. “Survive.” Tony’s gaze drifted away from Bucky’s arm then, in the direction of what Bucky presumed to be where he kept his suit.

There was something in that gaze that made Bucky think that perhaps he should have chosen a different analogy – there was definitely a story there. Perhaps he could ask Natasha if she knew anything about.

That thought made him laugh. Of course Natasha knew – the time he had known her, she had discovered everything about him he wasn’t overtly hiding, but also not exactly telling everyone. For one, his Jewish heritage was out within his first non-alien related conversation with her. He had a feeling that Natasha made it her business to know what she could about everything and everyone – both for her sake, and for everyone else’s.

 

“Stark was kidnapped in Afghanistan four years ago.” Natasha told him, curled up gracefully on his sofa and throwing popcorn into her mouth. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, making a muffled ‘Oh,’ sound through a mouthful of his own popcorn. They had popcorn, in the forties, just none that tasted as good as this. “A militant terrorist group called Ten Rings. It was how he made the first suit.”

His analogy had hit very close to home, Bucky realised with a guilty start. He built his suit with enemy tech. Bucky was an insensitive asshole that really should do his research.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Natasha dismissed as if reading his mind. “He’s – well. You never really get over torture-”

“Tell me about it.”

“Preaching to the choir, here, but he’s as adjusted as I’d imagine he could be. Seriously, Tony’s a very strange man. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“You think my head is pretty?”

“It’s your only redeeming feature.”

“What about my impressive muscles?”

“They come from steroids, and one of your biceps isn’t even real. Not so impressive. Neither are your Frisbee skills.”

“I love you.”

“That’s a shame.”

 

 

“You’re a sniper?”

“Clint?” Bucky snapped his gaze up from his phone, eyes searching the room quickly, hesitantly. He definitely heard the other man’s voice, but couldn’t locate the man himself.

“Up here.”

Bucky froze, narrowing his eyes at nothing in particular before slowly swivelling his gaze up.

Clint was hanging upside down out of his vent.

“Why are you up there?” he asked, exasperated as he reached up and grabbed a hold of Clint’s shoulder. The other man looked alarmed for a second before he went crashing onto the sofa.

“Owww. You didn’t have to do that,” he whined. “But you didn’t answer my question!”

“That was a question? It seemed like a vaguely worded statement. Yes, I am a sniper.”

“How good?”

“Uh, honestly, or subjectively?” he raised an eyebrow. The two were very starkly different.

“Give me both.”

“Subjectively, according to US Officials from 1943 up to 1945, ‘The best marksman the US Army has to offer’,” he parroted from that time he spoke to Senator Brandt, when Steve had to do his monkey show in exchange for being allowed onto the field. “’Considered for Operation Foxley, and undertook several of the most dangerous missions that a sniper could manage.’”

Clint whistled, looking pretty impressed.

“Honestly, I’m fine. I’m not – well. I was gonna say _superhuman_ , but, well, I guess I am now.” He frowned. “Wait, am I a better sniper than I was because of that?”

“Try not to have an existential crisis about it, and let’s go practice!”

“I gotta find out…” he muttered to himself, shrugging as Clint jumped to his feet and went towards the elevator.

“Stark’s built a shooting range.”

“Why?”

“For this reason?” Clint shrugged.

“Was it here before?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Why would Tony build one?”

“He asked us to move in, he probably wanted to make us feel comfortable without making it too obvious.”

“He does strike me as the kind of person to deny any and all emotional attachments to anyone,” Bucky agreed, pondering the younger Stark and his mannerisms.

 

He could match, or almost match, or even outdo, in the case of sniper rifles, Clint on every single weapon except a bow, and a crossbow.

“You’re good,” Bucky admitted, impressed. “How long have you been training?”

“Since I was – probably six?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows with a whistle. “Well, I’ve been practicing for three years, and cheated by becoming a super soldier. So you’re pretty fucking good.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Barnes.” Clint looked smug but humbled. “Cheating, sure, but still damn good. It’ll come in handy one day when I’m out of commission.”

“That sentence worries me,” Bucky accused, narrowing his eyes. “I had to deal with years of Steve Rogers’ self-sacrificing shit, and I certainly am not going to stand for it _this_ century.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint nodded approvingly. “Definitely a lot like Natasha.”

“Speaking of Natasha,” Bucky rolled his eyes with a sigh, disassembling his gun and putting it where he found it. “Where is the bloodsucker?”

“That’s not way to speak about a lady, Captain,” came the very woman’s voice from his back. Bucky just rolled his eyes again.

“That would only apply if you were actually a lady, now we’re gonna be late for dinner.”

“You guys are going for dinner?”

“Yes, you can come.”

“Thank _God_.”

 

“So,” Bucky began through a mouthful of food, knowing that a lifetime ago, he’d have been smacked by his ma for doing just that. “I need training.”

Natasha raised a single brow, not looking nearly as intimidating as usual since she had tomato sauce on the corner of her mouth.

“Training?” she asked with a carefully controlled, even tone. “For what?”

“Don’t play coy, Romanoff,” he swallowed, immediately taking another bite of his pasta. It was _really_ good. “If I’m gonna join SHIELD, I’ve got to be a hell of a lot better than I am.”

“But,” Clint interrupted, looking genuinely confused. “You’ve fought in an alien war. You’re a super soldier. You can fight just fine.”

“Just _fine_ is gonna get me killed,” he returned just as evenly. “I can do basic Judo and Jujitsu, and I can box. Watching you two fight makes it pretty clear that’s not enough.”

Natasha was quiet for a long moment, assessing him with her beady eyes.

“And why ask me?” She asked quietly, and even Clint seemed interested in the answer. Bucky’s grin in response was predatory.

“A man learns to fight and he’s respected,” he said carefully, thinking of Peggy and her solid grip on a gun, her unflinching gaze, her own strength and marksmanship. “A woman learns to be ten times better just to get that respect. You know better than probably any expert SHIELD employs.”

Natasha’s eyes were sharp and amused, her lips sliding into an amused, even smug smirk.

“Meet me in Stark’s gym tomorrow at 0800.” She grinned like a shark, or, well, it would have been, had there not been spinach on her teeth.

 

As instructed, he put on some slacks he bought and the kind of shirt that should have been ratty and old, but he’d not been out of ice long enough for that to happen, so it was still crisp like new. His feet were bare and he had his shield slung onto his right arm, waiting impatiently for the Black Widow to arrive.

When Natasha did arrive, it was in her own training outfit, grey leggings and a black top, her hair in a loose, messy bun at the base of her neck.

“You ready, Barnes?” she lifted one eyebrow, already lowering her stance threateningly.

“Yup,” he mimicked her.

“Show me what you got. And put down the frisbee. You won’t need it.”

He paused for a second before setting it down against the wall, returning to the mats and hiding the way he felt off balance.

“I’m not going to go easy on you,” she continued. “You can take it. Don’t go easy on me – I’ll know.”

Without waiting for a response, she was in the air and already halfway to punch.

 

For such a small woman, she was fucking _deadly_.

“Ow,” he whined, rubbing at the bruise on his neck that went all around, a ring of her power. His ribs must have been black and blue, and let’s not even start on how feeble his legs felt. Even _aliens_ were easier to fight than she was.

“You’ll heal,” she gasped in response, sat on her half of the mat with her own fair share of injuries. He’d gotten a few good hits in, not even bothering to go easy on her since she wasn’t either. For his efforts, he might have broken her nose, definitely broken at least one of her ribs and toes, and might have pulled some of her hair out.

“Sorry,” he grunted, feeling only mildly guilty for the injuries he’d pushed onto her. She’d given back better than she got, though, so he wasn’t too mad. She waved him off.

“It’s good,” she panted. “You need a hell of a lot of work, but you’re good.”

“Thanks,” he half-heartedly quirked his lips up into his trademark smirk, but it his heart really wasn’t in it. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Natasha went deathly silent, her gaze clouding a little as she stared at the ceiling.

Bucky was beginning to suspect he was not as good with people as he used to be.

“I was kidnapped at three years old and trained for fifteen years as an assassin. No one suspects a little girl of being a terrorist.”

Bucky cursed under his breath. “I shouldn’t even try to talk to people,” he berated himself, wishing he could just leave the room and the conversation open-ended.

“You asked,” she shrugged. “You have a right to know. It was beaten into me. To be like I am. If I wasn’t, I could be killed.”

He could respect that, at least.

He’d learnt how to scream silently, how to cry without almost drowning his own mouth, how to repeat his name, rank and serial number over and over until it was all that was left of him.

The army taught him to be a killer. HYDRA taught him to be a survivor.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, shooting a glance to her blooming bruises, the purpling around her nose.

“I have my own version of your serum,” she admitted, and Bucky got the feeling that she was in a particularly sharing mood. She didn’t strike him as the kind of woman to share her life’s story with every man she beat up. “Mild, but enough to boost my healing. It’s only partly why I’m so good at my job.”

“Huh. Guess I shouldn’t really be surprised by so much anymore.” He surmised, and he was rewarded with her tired laugh, like the tinkling of bells from a pet’s collar.

 

“It’s getting a little easier,” Bucky surmised quietly, lips twisted into a frown. “The people. They’re nice, here, mostly.”

He was talking to a black and white photo, the only one left of Steve before he became everything that the world wanted to be – not long after the serum had been pumped into his blood, but before he became a dancing monkey.

Bucky felt like an idiot.

“You’re not even here.” He whispered, pain lacing every pump oh his heart. “I’m speaking to a fucking picture of you, because there’s no body in your grave, and you’ve been dead for almost seventy years.

“I’m trying. I’m – I’m trying to find something, some reason to believe that – that maybe I can stay. Here.” He swallowed, knowing that if he said the words out loud it would make them real. The words he couldn’t say to his fucking _therapist_. “I… I don’t know if I can live without you, Steve. Didn’t know what I’d do if you keeled over from pneumonia or the flu. Didn’t know what I’d do if your asthma snuck up on you when I wasn’t there. Didn’t know what I’d do if I woke up one morning and you were cold. Seventy years on and I don’t know how to even start living a life that don’t mean nothing without you there.

“You always surprised everyone,” he whispered, shaking his head minutely with confusion. “How – how every time they said you’d die, you’d be on your feet a week later. I always said you’d outlive us all, and when you got the serum…” He swallowed. “I wish you could come back from this. I wish there was a way – any way – that you could have survived. Could have lived to be here. Now. I need – I need you here. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

 

Natasha healed up fairly quickly, so Bucky didn’t feel too bad about roughing her up again.

It wasn’t like she didn’t do the same to him.

 

Two months into their training, she walked in, accompanied by a man he didn’t recognise.

“This,” she gestured to the man, stern and stocky with a frown deep-set into his brows. “Is Frank Miller. He’s the coach for the US Gymnastics team in the Olympics.”

He offered his hand politely, shaking the other man’s firmly. “Good to meet you,” he said, though his confusion was evident in his sidelong glance to Natasha.

“You need more flexibility and rigorous muscular training. He can help with that, and when he does, I can help you more.”

He nodded, turning back to the coach with his chin high.

“We should get started then.”

“Yes, we should.” Frank replied gruffly.

 

Flexibility was a _bitch_ to try to learn, but when it meant he could move with almost as much ease and grace as Clint could, Bucky counted it as worth it. He knew he’d never quite reach the catlike elegance of Natasha, as that wasn’t something that was taught; from the look in her eyes, it was something learned, something beaten. Clint’s acrobatic tricks, however, very much learnable.

His hard-earned flexibility, over the course of a rigorous three month training regime, meant that when Natasha finally started stepping things up a notch, he could dodge and spin off anything that only months previously would have left him overbalanced and prone to attack.

 

A full six months after he’d defrosted, Bucky was startled one morning by his reflection.

In 1943 he had been tall and lean, muscle sinewy beneath his skin and only there from the docks.

In 1945 he had been tall and thin, sickly but muscular.

In 2012, he was…

Built.

He didn’t recognise the figure in the mirror, and he wondered if Steve had felt a similar way when he had emerged from that steel cocoon taller and more muscular than any man he’d ever met.

Bucky’s next thought came as a surprise even to himself – what would Steve think of his body?

Steve hadn’t thought much of his own transformation from skinny to super, playing it off like it hadn’t sent his whole world off-kilter. But he knew Steve well enough to know that Steve would have something to say about his new… everything.

But what?


End file.
